


The Picture of 1994

by MoonlightShines (theklainer)



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Abuse, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anxiety, Avengers Feels, Bisexual Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes Feels, Canon-Typical Violence, Captain America AU, Character Death, Dad Steve, Dad!Steve, Depressed Steve, Domestic Avengers, F/M, Kid Fic, M/M, Natasha Is a Good Bro, Nightmares, Or should I say very sad Steve, Panic Attacks, Parent Steve Rogers, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Protective Steve Rogers, Psychological Trauma, SHIELD Agent Bucky Barnes, SHIELD Agent Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sassy Sam Wilson, Slow Burn, Steve Rogers Feels, Stucky - Freeform, Torture, past steggy, single dad
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-20
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2018-07-25 13:29:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 44,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7534558
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theklainer/pseuds/MoonlightShines
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve Rogers is a single father desperate to destroy the terrorist organization that assassinated his wife.</p><p>After 5 years of imprisonment and torture, Bucky Barnes wants to fight back against the ones who stripped his life away. </p><p>Nick Fury thinks they would make an excellent pair. </p><p>--</p><p>Or, the one in which Bucky and Steve don't know each other. </p><p>And then they do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you forever to my best friends for encouraging me to write this.  
> This story is an AU where there are no powers and the Avengers are simply an outstanding group of individuals working for the secret intelligence agency SHIELD. Therefore Steve and Bucky (as well as Thor) are from this era, and not the past.  
> Could be seen as an alternate spin to Captain America: The Winter Soldier.

It was just a photograph.

  
She was in it. Her hair was pinned out of her face and she wore a light shade of lipstick that made her look stunning. She was stunning. Her head was tipped back, as if she were absorbing sunlight. As if she needed the natural sun of the sky to give her the warmth she radiated through her very existence.

  
It made him want to laugh. To think that she never knew what a brilliant supernova she was to him. To be able to blind with light and goodness, shine and awe a whole universe, and then instantaneously die. 

  
He pocketed the wallet sized photo, grabbed his keys and headed out the door.

 ///

He named his daughter Felicity, for she was his only joy.

  
The daycare worker praised Felicity’s gentle nature as she gave him a pen to sign her out. He accidentally jostled her when he bent down, and she woke up in his arms.

  
She mumbled quietly, burying her head further into his shoulder.

  
He whispered something into her ear that made her smile against his chest.

 

That evening, long after he put his daughter to sleep, he reached back into his pocket to pull out the worn photo. He made himself a glass of wine and settled into his plush chair in his apartment. He thumbed at the corner, fidgeting with his glass as a television drama created white noise.

 Time passed quickly. Before he knew it his glass was empty and his eyes were half lidded. A sudden intensity of drowsiness overwhelmed him. It took all of his strength to get up and prepare for bed.

He brought the photo with him as he got under the sheets, gave it one last long look, and placed it neatly in the drawer of his bedside table. He weakly turned off his lamp and shivered into the blankets that protected him as he fell into very deep sleep.

He doesn’t know when it happened. How he gave up.

He used to fight relentlessly, he swore to himself it was necessary. For the sake of his daughter.

He tried, he really did, but somehow through his struggling race to persevere, a harsh brittle wind knocked him down, stole the air out of his lungs as if a football made a direct impact to his diaphragm. He staggered and fumbled in a desperate attempt to catch the little last of life left, flickering in the corner of his soul.

There was no use in deceiving himself. He was a dead man in brown leather shoes; the slow haziness that overcame him choked him, blurring his nights into mornings into evenings into nights into oblivion.  

 ///

He woke up with a start.

Little fingers ghosted his face, and he had to blink several times before he could make out the shape of a thee-year-old figure hovering over him. He shifted, grabbing Felicity’s little pink fingertips and blearily placed them to his heart.

It was barely midnight. He didn’t need to ask why Felicity was there; the nightmares were frequent. He pressed her warm body against his chest, and stroked her hair until her breathing evened out. He stared at the black ceiling as his baby slept.

She had nightmares often.

  
He didn't need to close his eyes to know the feeling.

~.~

 

Steve met Peggy 6 years ago when they were first paired for a mission. Steve was new to the intelligence agency, Peggy was not.

They were sent to an unassuming community in South America to stop a trafficking ring that unknowingly took a distant relative of another agent.

Three weeks into the mission, Peggy fell faint to Steve’s horror and urged him to bring her to the village doctor, compromising their leads. He picked her up and sprinted, tripping over vines and snakes in sticky heat, heart and mind racing. When they arrived, Steve did not take his eyes off her out of fear she may never wake up. She therefore nearly gave him a heart attack when she bolted up from her bed at midnight, shooting her doctor between the eyes, then swiftly kicking dead four other  "doctors" that seemingly appeared out of thin air. Steve watched in shock for a mortifying sixty seconds before he was able to kick-start his brain and spring into action, aiding in the demise of the undercover ring.

“You scared me,” Steve admitted, a faint blush on his cheeks, breaking half an hour of silence since the two were picked up by the quinjet that would fly them back to New York.

  
Peggy adjusted her thigh holster, trying not to smile.

 

Steve fell for her.

It was impossible not to. She was the strongest, most fearless person he’s ever met.

She was everything he ever dared to dream to be.

  
He couldn’t keep it hidden, despite the nature of his job. His colleagues thought it was shameful, teasing him relentlessly.

  
When Peggy kissed him for the first time, long and lingering in the sweltering deserts of Afghanistan three months later, Steve couldn’t bring himself to care.

 ~.~

It’s different now. His life is greyer. His eyes are duller.

  
Steve used to enjoy walking to work. He was the type of person who came alive in the beauty of nature. Rain or blue skies, he didn’t care, no weather could dampen his high spirits. It was an excellent morning exercise to keep his mind sharp too. Paying attention to his surroundings, observing any abnormalities or changes from day to day. Being an agent required one to always be on high alert. 

Felicity would be resting peacefully in her stroller, listening to her father’s chattering or zonked out completely, lulled to sleep by the warmth of the sun.

Steve carries his sleepy toddler to his apartment’s underground parking lot the next morning.

  
He drives now.

 

~.~

Steve and Peggy brought Felicity home two days after she was born.

They bickered over her name. Steve wasn’t very original, and Peggy thought she was going to be a boy, so they brought her home without one. It bothered Peggy a little, but it was okay. She was their baby, Steve reasoned, she didn’t need to have a name right away. It didn't mean she wasn't loved. 

Steve watched his wife as she sung to their baby, rocking her in the chair of their freshly furnished nursery. There was never a time he felt so happy. His heart has never felt so full of love than in that moment. He pulled out his phone to sneak a picture, to capture it forever. 

“Don’t,” Peggy warned, never taking her eyes off the baby in her arms. “We’re agents Steve, we can’t have a picture of me with her floating around. Not now. Not when we’re off our guard like this, when she’s so tiny. It could fall into the wrong hands. Someone could use her to get to us.”

“But—”

“It’s dangerous.” Her tone implied the conversation was over.

He sighed, defeated, putting his phone away before walking up to his family and hugging them with his arms, as if he were trying to protect them from an invisible force.

He was.

 

///

Felicity was truly an amazing child to take care of. She never screams or throws temper tantrums, or runs away when Steve’s not looking (NoT like that would be possible anyways).

She’s obedient, tranquil.

This might have concerned Steve several years ago. Children should be loud and bold, free to explore and express themselves, he would have argued.

Now, honestly, Steve is just relieved.

It’s not that Felicity is unhappy either. She is perfectly content the way she is, unless some nightmare frightens her at night, even then, she wouldn’t wake up screaming, simply climb into bed with Steve and sleep with him for comfort.

It’s normal. It’s _easy_.

Thank God.

Felicity would always insist to be picked up for a hug before he dropped her off at SHIELD’s daycare.

It might be more therapeutic for him than it was ever intended to be for her. Sometimes, recently, it’s the only thing that gets him through his day.

Steve thinks she knows this. He has a smart daughter.

 ///

Clint jogs back to the meeting hall to retrieve his forgotten jacket where he finds Steve staring silently at his assignment. His head was buried in his hands on the table.

“Doing alright there, Cap?”

After Peggy’s death, Steve was appointed as The Avenger’s leader, under Director Fury and Maria Hill. The Avengers, being S.H.I.E.L.D’s most elite team of scientific and field agents of the highest of versatile skill, composed of Steve, Natasha Romanoff, Sam Wilson, Wanda Maximoff, Thor Odinson, Bruce Banner, James Rhodes, Tony Stark, Jane Foster and Clint Barton himself.

They called Steve ‘Captain America’. Mostly it was a joke because of his military rank, his position at the agency as their leader _and_   the fact that he was born on July 4th. Clint thinks it’s completely justifiable. He also thinks as far as nicknames goes, it could be a lot worse.

SHIELD’s morning briefing was over, all agents dismissed, but Steve has yet to move from the position he was in when Clint left ten minutes ago.

“Hmm?”

“Steve,” Clint says.

He looks up from his files. Clint studies him, eyes squinted like he’s focusing in on a target. There are bags under his eyes. He doesn’t appear to be ill, but he doesn’t look well either.

“Is Felicity okay?” He asks, gently. “I’m sure Fury would give you some time off if she’s sick.”

“She’s fine.”

“…And you?” Clint hesitates, reaches a hand out. He wasn’t planning on actually touching him, really, but Steve recoils anyway, placing his hands in his lap, his eyes downcast

“I’m _fine_ , Clint,” he says, grabbing his folder and walking out swiftly.

Clint waits for him.

It takes a minute for Steve to come back, shifting awkwardly in a Bruce-like manner.

“I’m sorry for snapping at you, Barton,” he sighs. “I’m fine, really. Just had a rough night.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie.

“It’s cool dude,” Clint nods, watching Steve’s shoulders sink in relief. “I get it.”

“Thank you.”

Clint pulls out a chair once Steve leaves, delaying his own obligations for a far more serious one. He begins drafting a group text to be sent to Natasha, Tony and Sam.

It doesn’t take a secret agent to clue in when something is wrong with a friend.

 ///

They take a vote.

Sam wins, it’s not really a surprise. Nobody voted for Tony’s brash unfiltered way with words, and everybody knows Clint speaks louder with actions. Sam is Steve’s best friend, and he is experienced with confrontation; he used to be a counselor at the VA before he was recruited by SHIELD

He rolls his eyes when Natasha snickers at the results, though he doesn’t mind too much.

Sam figures the poor man needs a break to go take his kid to the zoo or something, he can’t remember the last time Steve took time off that was more than a long weekend. He understands his motives, he would be the same way, he supposes, if Hydra ripped his family from his bare hands, leaving him battered and alone. But Steve is loosing focus and its effecting his work. Everyone can tell.

Back then, making Steve the leader seemed like a good idea.

It gave him something to fight for, it kept him close to the agency and made him a better agent. Yet, now that Sam thinks about it, he’s not sure it was a very healthy decision. He demands to take his assignments without a partner, secluding himself to fight his demons alone. It’s aggravating. It’s not Steve’s responsibility to take on Hydra by himself. He may be the leader of the Avengers, but the position was handed to him due to personal tragedy. His sense of obligation is clouding his judgement that is misdirecting his needs into something that is draining the life out of him.

Their Captain is drowning in his own sea. It's not pretty. 

 

Sam visits Steve in his office.  “Hey Cap, I talked to Fury and he’s going to let me tag along with you and make it a group effort.”

Steve glances at him from his data analysis. “What about you own assignment?”

“Gave it to Natasha.”

Steve frowns in suspicion, shaking his head. “She doesn’t need—”

“She can handle it.”

“ _I know that_.“ He gives Sam a small strained smile, “Fine. If you insist. I guess you better suit up, I have a quinjet departing in fifteen minutes.”

Sam grins, one step ahead of him. He goes for a water bottle in the fridge, “Where we off to, Cap?”

“Mexico. I’ve just pin pointed the Hydra base we’ve got to blow up.”

Sam can detect the malice hidden behind the words.

“Oh Lord.”

 ///

Steve was a strategist, a tactician. He studied coordinates until they were engraved into his memory. He watched his targets until he knew their weaknesses, their strengths.

Then, and only then, he attacked. He was logical, practical, precise.

Sam is realizing in growing horror that all Steve's precision flew out the window when Hydra was involved.

 “What the hell are you doing?” Sam says, talking to Steve through their coms. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” He punches through a wooden decaying plank, pathetically nailed to glass window.

The hydra base seemed to be located underground an abandoned mansion of a convicted Mexican drug lord. Sam wanted to laugh at the unoriginal location, but considering how long they went undetected, he had to give them credit; clichés work.

Steve was already inside. Sam doesn't know where. It’s against the protocol. Sam is supposed to be on Steve’s six. How is that possible to achieve when Steve sprints off like he doesn’t want him around?

_Oh._

He takes the broken plank and smashes. He jumps in, surveying the lightly lit room. He taps his coms once more in annoyance.

Steve is awfully quiet.

“Status report,” Sam says, sneaking down a flight of stairs.

He doesn’t have to wait for Steve’s answer. The door at the end of the stairwell is slightly cracked open, and he can see Steve breaking into a file cabinet, stuffing files into his suit.

He jogs up to him and Steve whips around ready to strike before his mind can dismiss the threat. He turns back swiftly, rummaging through records.

“This isn’t the mission.” Sam whispers, “We don’t know if anyone is here. We haven’t even run surveillance of the proximity yet. I don’t know all the exits.”

“I need the files.” He says briskly. “I need names.”

“Okay. Then why don’t we come back tomorrow, _when we’re prepared_ —”

Steve shushes him.

“Did you hear that?”

No. Sam didn’t hear anything because he was too busy scolding Steve’s ass to do his damn job properly.

But then it’s clear. Steve throws an arm in front of Sam. They both freeze.

Distinct footsteps thundering above them.

Shit.

“They’re going for the staircase,” Sam realizes, “Activate the explosives. Let’s go.”

Sam’s already halfway out the room when he turns back to see Steve hasn’t budged.

“Steve. Explosives. Now”

“I need these files.”

The thundering is louder. Hydra’s reached the first flight of stairs. They have two minutes, five if they’re lucky.

Sam rushes back, yanks Steve away from the cabinets. It takes everything within Sam not to punch him. He would, he thinks, he really fucking would if they had the time. The stairs are creaking now. They don’t have time for the explosives anymore if they want a clean getaway.

Sam clenches his jaw, reaching for his old revolver. He wasn’t armed for a fight that would require more than a quick hand to hand. His gun isn’t useless, can definitely do some damage, but no matter how many people are about to bust in that door in thirty seconds, they’ve got the upper hand. Not to mention, thanks to Steve's recklessness Sam hasn’t had the time to scope out any other exits other than the front door and that busted window. The window up the exact same staircase Bad People are rushing down now. Go figure.

 This was supposed to be a stealth operation. He wasn’t expecting it to be easy, it was Hydra; the very definition of chaos, but it was supposed to be clean. The objective was clear.

He glances to his right. Steve has a 10mm semi-automatic pistol already cocked and aimed, hand steady. Sam grits his teeth. Steve planned this.

The door slams open and Sam can count three agents. Two men and a woman. They’re all armed, but the woman has a knife glinting in her hand, her gun secured in her holster.

  
Steve shoots quickly, the gunshot echoing in the air. They are experienced, though. They dodge quickly.

Sam and Steve exchange a fast look of mutual agreement: They have to take them out. Sam prefers to knock enemies out non-lethally, so he can bring them in for prosecution. The whole justice thing. Steve is like that too, or at least, he used to be, Sam thinks, but it doesn't take a rocket scientist to know that when it comes to Hydra, you can't play around. All hydra agents and associates are on strict kill order anyway, and it doesn't look like there are any other options today.

Sam dives under a table. The men seem to be focusing on Steve. The girl is smart though. She’s after him. He’s about to pull his trigger when he notices something better. She’s wearing her blonde hair in a long loose braid. Good. _Great._ Sam knocks the table over. The woman jerks back in surprise, dropping her knife. Sam surges, tumbling over the table in a somersault, snatching the weapon. He grabs her shoulders and pushes hard, waiting for her to stumble. She does. He goes for the hair. He pulls, steering her right, and her head goes crashing to the wall with a yelp. The noise captures one of the guy’s attention.

Sam doesn’t have much time.

He takes her own knife and watches her eyes widen as he plunges it into her. “Forgive me, mom,” Sam mutters, as she falls to the floor.

“Hail Hydra.” she croaks, with a ragged final breath.

The man coming for him rages, blowing him back with a high kick. Sam trips over a table leg that was sticking out in the air and scolds himself mentally for not seeing that coming.

He gets up quickly. He tries to encourage a physical fight. He’s not panicking, but his fall gave Bad Guy the advantage. He doesn’t want him to use the gun, doesn’t want him to even remember he has one when he’s standing this close. He gets several punches in. He’s just as good. Sam's jaw is aching. He gets hit again, and he has to support himself as the wind gets knocked out of him. He can see the agent reaching for his gun again. Sam shakes himself loose, calculating the amount of time left he has to breakaway.

He sees Steve fighting in his peripheral. He doesn’t think he noticed Sam’s in a pickle, but that’s alright, he hasn’t been closely monitoring Steve either. He decides to stick to his original plan: Stay physical and no guns. He barrels into him with a strength he didn’t think he was capable of. It leaves Bad Guy stunned for a moment. He uses it to sidestep away from direct lines of fire. He’s about to clock him over the head with his own gun when Bad Guy crumbles to the ground like he has an urgent need to worship the floor. He blinks. The man is dead. Sam looks up. Steve is pinned to the wall by agent 2.

So…Who fired?

Steve launches onto his attacker flipping their positions just as the agent starts speaking and twists his neck grossly.

Oh. Steve did. _Nice._

“Time to go,” Steve pants, throwing the agent against the cabinets for good measure.

“You think?” Sam snarks. 

Steve throws Sam the bombs.

“Hell no,” Sam says. “I’m not activating these until you find me an exit.”

Steve rolls his eyes, grabs them back, setting it to go off in 5 minutes.

“Just follow me.” He calls over his shoulder as he runs away, heading down a hallway Sam hasn’t even noticed until now.

He gives him a death glare. “Sometimes I really hate you.”

They get out with a minute to spare.

 

 

~.~

   
Four days after Felicity came home, the doorbell rang.

Peggy and Steve both groaned.

Steve rolled out of bed, and shuffled to the door.

“Yes?”

Director Fury held out a pink gift basket, smirking. “Congratulations! Boy, you look awful.”

“Thanks,” Steve said with a wry smile. “Stakeouts are very different than staying up all night diapering.”

“You don’t say,” Fury deadpanned. “Listen, Rogers, I know you and the Mrs. have your hands full but we have an emergency. We need you to report in Chicago for tomorrow morning. It’s Hydra.”

Steve stared, very still. And then he dissolved into laughter.

“Not a joke, Rogers.”

Steve snapped up from his bent position where his arm was supporting his stomach, back taut and eyes wide, as his mind sluggishly strings the words together, the implication that, no, Fury’s mouth was tight, his expression was grim, so _no_ , this wasn’t a prank.

“ _What?_ ” Steve sobered, clenching his fists, “Are you out of your mind?! We’re both on leave. We're exhausted. Take Natasha, or Clint, or Wanda. Anyone else!”

“They have hostages and chemical weapons. They are asking for you, specifically, Steve, they have your name. We can only assume they have your profile and pictures too. If this wasn’t a serious threat we would have handled it without you. I’m strict, not sadistic. Besides,” Fury smirked, shaking the basket, “I brought gifts.”

"Fury, there is no way I'm leaving my wife with our newborn baby right now."

"It’s alright, Steve.”

Both men turned around. Peggy appeared at the foyer, dressed impeccably, with zero indication that she was in a nightgown christened with spit up five minutes ago. She held the dozing baby in her arms; it did very little to weaken her authoritarian presence.

“We’ll be here Steve, just come back home. Thank you Director for the thoughtful gift,” Peggy takes the present from his hands, setting it down beside her. She looks up at Fury with a cool expression. “I assume you’ll now allow me to kiss my husband goodbye,” she dismissed.

“Yes, ma’am,” Fury saluted, turning away back to his car.

“You’re crazy, Pegs.” Steve said with a fond smile.

“Maybe,” she agreed. “Sleep deprived too, perhaps. Mostly, I have faith.”

“I love you.” Steve replied, cupping her face in his left hand, stroking her cheek with his thumb as he leans in for a soft kiss.

Peggy hands Steve the baby, and he takes her gingerly. She wrapped her arms around his waist and sighed wistfully.

“Take pleasure in the little joys life brings, my mother used to say. Don’t be cross at the Director, it’ll only make the mission harder.”

Steve feels his shirt seep with some wetness. He checks the baby: She’s not drooling. Seconds later, Peggy sniffles.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” He asked, with growing alarm.

“The hormones are making me weepy and I'm too tired to fight it,” she said with a light laugh, wiping her eyes. “But you have people to protect. Just come home safely, please. Your family will be waiting eagerly for your return.” Peggy nods, with finality and decisiveness, always the strongest.

She always was the strongest. 

~.~

  
Steve and Sam return back to headquarters looking worn.

Sam spent the ride fuming silently at their close call. Steve fell asleep.

They debriefed with Fury and Hill, who stared at Steve with judgmental eyes but didn’t bring anything up.

Once they were alone, Sam pushed.

“That was some stupid shit you pulled back there.”

Steve shot him a dirty look. “I knew what I was doing.”

“Yeah. But I didn’t.” It’s like Steve forgot how to work in a pair. They're supposed to be best friends. Teamwork doesn’t work unless both sides put in the effort. 

“Look,” Steve starts, “I didn’t ask you to come along. If Hydra is too difficult for you—”

“Oh, cut the crap!" Sam snaps.  "We both know this isn’t about me. It’s about you. What you did was dangerous and stupid. Are you telling me you do things like that all the time? Alone? What would have happened back there if I wasn't with you? You alone against three Hydra agents in another country? I'm not saying it's impossible but the likelihood of you winding up dead and forgotten on the floor would have been _too damn high_.  You have a daughter, man. She needs you. You need to think of her.”

Steve bangs his fist on the table. “I do think of her! I’m doing all of this for her! Hydra killed her _mother_ , I’m avenging her death! I have to do it _somehow_ , and it won't happen if I'm sitting here on my ass in fear, waiting for them to strike again. I have to go out there and do it myself." 

Sam opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again. “ _Steve_.”

“If you're here to try to fucking stop me you  _can't_  so fucking shut up and  _get out_!” He shouts, flinging his empty water glass against the wall.

Sam startles at the shattering of glass. “Holy shit _stop_.” Sam says, grabbing onto his shoulders and pulling him up, shaking him slightly. He forces him to look at the mess he made. "Listen to yourself! This isn't you." 

Steve blinks once the blinding anger fades and looks back at his hands in disbelief, shocked at his own actions.

He drops to his chair.

“I didn't mean that. I’m sorry.”

“What. The. Fuck. Was. That?”

Steve’s silent. His hands begin to shake. Sam sits in another office chair and rolls over taking his trembling hands in his.

 "Steve?" 

“I’m so tired, Sam.” Steve whispered, eyes glued to the floor. He could feel the threatening tears burning his eyes. “If it wasn’t for Felicity, I don’t think I would have made it this far.”

“Do you really mean that?” Sam says, softly.

Steve tried to glare at Sam, but it came out weak and weary, hot tears spilling, betraying him. He stood up to walk away, only to sit back down.

“I miss her,” he says with a sob. As if it were a dark dirty secret, "I miss her so much." 

Maybe it was.

The heaviness of the words settled into his chest and made it hard to breathe. He squeezed his eyes shut, but memories of her flooded in, her eyes, her hair, her laugh. Her blood splattered against the ceramic tile of the kitchen floor. His baby crying for her mother’s breast for days and days afterwards. He opened them back with a pained noise, latching onto Sam as he cried in earnest.

“I want her back. I want my life back."

“I know,” Sam soothes, “I know.”

Steve shudders, trying to speak between sobs. 

" _It_ _hurts—I'm tired_." 

"Shh," Sam says, pulling his best friend closer, "I know."

It was painful to watch him come apart like this. Sam rubs his back comfortingly and can't help but feel thankful despite of it. Steve needed to break. It's been a long time coming. 

Steve cried for over an hour.

Sam thinks it may have been the first time in three years.

 

* * *

 

 

In case anyone was wondering what Steve Rogers and a baby would look like...

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *There is a rather descriptive account of Peggy's death here, as well as descriptions of Bucky's torture.

Sam speaks to Fury.

Steve needs an intervention. Everyone agrees. The problem is, Steve needs his job too. SHIELD gives his life purpose. It’s what he’s good at. He’s an excellent leader, Hydra operations aside, and the Avengers depend on him. Trying to pull him away from the organization his late wife spent her life putting together wouldn’t be productive.

Fury speaks to Agent Hill and comes to a conclusion. He assembles the Avengers when Steve leaves, composed enough to brave the public and bring Felicity home from daycare, eyes only slightly red-rimmed.

Fury looks at Maria who nods and looks at Sam who looks at Clint who looks at Natasha.

Bruce adjusts his glasses nervously.

 Tony spins idly in his office chair.

“Let us help our brother!” Thor booms, breaking the silence with a sincerity that makes Jane smile. 

“Avengers,” Fury begins, “I have an idea.”

 ///

Steve unbuckles Felicity from her car seat when they get home. She was sleeping, waking only once he pulled into the underground parking lot.

“Hi, Sweetheart,” he greets with a soft smile, brushing her hair out of her face. She looks so much like Peggy. It pulls at his heartstrings, but he’s _so_ thankful for it. He picks her up easily, closing the car door, then walks through the lobby and into the elevator that brings them to their apartment.

“What do you want to eat?” He bounces her, making her smile.

“Pasta?” She asks hopefully, her big blue eyes round. 

“Sounds delicious.” He agrees, about to put her down to make it. 

“No,” She says, she touches his face with her hands. “Daddy crying?”

Steve’s smile falls off.

“Yeah, Sweetheart. I was sad.”

“Why?”

“People get sad sometimes.” He moves to the kitchen. Grabs some spaghetti and the strainer, starts pulling vegetables out of the fridge one handed. 

“Why’s Daddy sad?” 

He puts the tomato onto the counter, takes Felicity and sits her on it. She picks the tomato up curiously, before he whisks it away again to put next to the stove.

“I don’t know.” He lies, then feels terrible.  “I was thinking about Mommy,” He concedes.

“Oh.”

“Do you want to help Daddy cook or do you want to play with your toys?” Steve asks, boiling the water in the pan.

Felicity reaches out for him again. He sighs, and picks her up. She places her head on his shoulder and mumbles, “I wanna stay with you.”

“That’s okay,” Steve rubs her back. “You need to sit on the counter. Sit tight. If you can’t sit still, I’m going to have to put you down.”

“Okay.”

He puts her back and attends to the pot, making sure to break the spaghetti into pieces small enough for Felicity to eat.

He has her name the vegetables he chops for the sauce, warns her to keep her hands far away from the knife. He chuckles when she called a mushroom a 'smoosh' tickling her a little, and making her squeal. 

“Daddy,” she says, once dinner was ready and he had spooned a child’s portion of pasta into her plastic bowl, “You don’t have to be sad anymore about Mommy.”

 Steve halts just when he was about to take a bite. He lowers his fork down slowly.

“You have me now,” she continues sweetly, “And I love you.”

 Steve cracks a watery smile.

“I know sweetheart. I love you too.”

“And I’m a heart-breaker.”

Steve splutters, coughing down his mouthful with water.

She’s smiling cheekily at him, completely unconcerned about her father nearly choking on bite-sized pasta.

“Who told you that?”

“Auntie Tasha.”

“ _Oh, of course_.” Steve says, mimicking his daughter’s tone, “ _Auntie Tasha_.”

 Felicity picks up her sippy cup and beams.

 ///

 Director Fury asks Steve to stay in the meeting hall after the morning briefing the next day.

“Do you remember agent Barnes?”

Steve shakes his head slowly. “Am I supposed to?”

“He was one of the few agents who died in that Hydra operation that went sour five years ago, along with agent Coulson.”

Steve did remember Phil Coulson, of course. He was one of his mentors during his training. He thought highly of Steve. It was upsetting to hear he passed.

“They never found the body,” Fury continues, “It was assumed he perished in the fire that brought down their hidden base in New York.”

Fury gestured to Steve to sit.

He does, grabbing himself a plate from the food platter provided. 

“This is relevant because?” 

“It’s relevant because he’s sitting in a room on the 50th floor. Alive.”

Steve’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“Agent Romanov was on a lead in Russia four months ago where she happened to fall upon a Hydra facility. She found him there. He was tortured and emotionally manipulated for years to get classified intel on SHIELD.”

Steve’s face went white. He pushed his plate away. 

“Detained for five years? Is he okay?”

“We had several doctors assess him. He passed all of the psychological tests, but he understandably suffers from some symptoms of trauma. We were more concerned with his physical health. It appears Hydra mutilated him as a form of torture. He’s missing his left arm. 

Steve’s mouth tightens.

“Stark has been tasked to provide him with a prototype of an advanced cybernetic prosthesis under the consult of Dr. Banner. He got it fitted a month ago.”

Fury slides photos across the table. Steve rifles through them. There’s an official SHIELD picture of Barnes from six years ago. He looked young, around his age at the time, maybe a year older. More pictures of the past couple of months showed what remained of his left arm. A shredded bloodied stump cut carelessly right below his shoulder. He looked aged compared to the first photo, not in an unflattering way. His hair was long, disheveled, and thick. He stared at the camera resiliently, but Steve recognized the void look in his eyes. His eyes were pretty. His heart tugged; he didn’t deserve any of this.

He placed the pictures back on the table.

“Why do I get the feeling I’m the last one here to know about this? 

 “You are.”

Steve’s eyes hardened. “Why?”

He isn’t appreciating the way people have been treating him here these past couple of days. He knew Sam had purposely tagged along his mission yesterday. He didn’t like being watched like that. He tried to ditch him in the mansion and he would’ve felt bad about it if it wasn’t necessary. Sam would have prevented him from getting the information he needed. It’s not like Steve chooses his missions either. Fury specifically hands all Hydra related operations directly to him. He’s doing his job. Albeit, Steve doesn’t think he could stand to watch someone else tackle Hydra, they probably made it easier for everyone this way.

Steve has been attacking base after base, running all over the world to try to take it all down. But like they say, _Cut off one head, and two more shall take its place_. Steve knows there’s a way to get to the core, rip them apart from the inside, but when SHIELD blows all of the facilities apart, it destroys evidence and valuable information with it. What Steve could get his hands on could be what he needs to finish Hydra. It’s like nobody understands. He can’t rest until he does it. He wants to, but he’s stuck.

He can’t move on until they’re gone.

Hearing that SHIELD has had someone who might actually have substantial information for over three months without telling Steve makes him want to pull his hair out.

He can’t trust anybody, Steve discerns bitterly, even his friends are spies at heart.

He knows that’s not true or fair to say. They were following orders. Still. The feeling of betrayal burns deep.

Fury clears his throat. “We have reason to believe,” He says gently, “That Barnes’ survival may be attributed to the compromise of some information used to...”

He falters. Clears his throat again. “Used to assassinate commanding officer, Agent Carter-Rogers.”

There's a fine line Steve has been treading on these past couple years. He knows he's at the edge, Christ,  he knows he's not alright. But what can he do? Steve doesn't have the time to sit down and talk or to take a break. Not while juggling his duties as commanding officer, taking down Hydra _and_ saving face for his daughter. It's downright exhausting. But this is his life. This is _his_ team. Peggy was _his_ wife. Steve won't stand for being treated with kid gloves. To be the last to _know_. Being talked to like he's some troubled kid in the principal's office. Steve watches Fury evaluating him in the corner of his eye. He would be offended, if he could manage to think. But he couldn't think. He could barely breathe. There was a man sitting above him who could be the reason his life has been living hell. Felicity could have had her mother, Steve could have been _happy_ goddammit.  And here he is, shaking in an office chair casting blame onto a tortured man he hasn't even met and being offered a cup of water and more from the platter of cheese, thinking exactly like how they expected. 

Steve lets out a shaky breath, leaning his head back against the chair with his eyes squeezed shut and tunes back in to what Fury is saying.

“We didn’t want you to fault him. He suffered severely to conceal for us, he—”

“I wouldn’t have faulted him.” Steve interrupts gravely, eyes open again. "I would—I would never do that." He lied. Because he just did. But truly, he didn't mean it. He knows those thoughts come from dark places riddled with pain, coming to attack his moral. The old Steve Rogers—the true one, not this pathetic excuse for one he's pretending to be now—wouldn't. Fury doesn't know he's not him anymore. 

“We weren’t sure. The matter was delicate.” 

Steve doesn't blame Agent Barnes. He can't. He doesn't know him. But he will. 

“I have to talk to him.” Steve decides, “Please, I have to.”

Fury smiles like he knew Steve would say that. “It was never in my interests to forbid anybody from anything. We were simply protecting you. Both of you, until the situation was better determined.”

“So, what changed?”

“Barnes was offered a discharge from SHIELD with a very generous pension. He doesn’t want it.”

Steve looked back down at the pictures in front of him. “Why’s that?”

“He claims he doesn’t have anywhere to go. He wants to go back to the agency and take down Hydra." 

“And you think that’s a good idea?”

Fury shrugs. “You do it.”

Steve frowns, opens his mouth to argue, but thinks better of it. 

“We, Hill and I, think it’s best to partner the two of you up from now on. Assuming you are compatible. I’m sure you are. It’s safer. Maybe it’ll get the job done quicker. Who knows Cap,” he says with a twitch of his mouth, “maybe you’ll make a new lifelong friend.”

 Steve nods politely, but he highly doubts it. 

~.~

 Peggy found herself almost sleeping in her breakfast the morning after Steve left for Chicago.  She’s surprised, even though she shouldn’t be, because she had more food warming in the oven. That wouldn’t have gone well. She was last awake at two-thirty, when she thought she heard a distant phone ringing, only to be blasted by her daughter’s cries through the baby monitor. It was the first night she had to care for the baby alone. The first two nights were fine because she was still at the hospital. Nurses would check in on her and the baby. Every night after that, Steve and Peggy slept in shifts. It didn’t allow for rest anymore than it would have during a mission, but it worked well enough. It was almost five o’clock in the morning. Steve left last night at ten to board his jet at eleven. The baby slept for a total of three hours at a time before she cried for a feeding.

Peggy, delirious with exhaustion, for the first time in her life, felt stupid for letting Steve go.

She looked out the window with a mug of tea. It was too dark to see anything. The sun had still yet to rise.

Their house was small. Quiet. _Well_ , Peggy glanced wearily at the angel she was breastfeeding.

It used to be quiet.

Peggy and Steve moved into the three story home shortly after their wedding. Peggy liked it because their neighbours were well distanced. Steve liked it because Peggy liked it. The art studio in the basement helped too.

Peggy looked out the window again and squinted.

Was that…? Was there a figure looming outside?

She couldn’t be sure. Her eyes could be deceiving her; it could be an illusion from lack of sleep. She set the tea down and rubbed her eyes. Again, she looked, and thought she detected movement. Hair stood up at the back of her neck and she held the baby tightly.

“Mommy needs to check on something, sweetie.” She told her, “I have to stop feeding you. Sorry love, I know you’re hungry.” She pried her daughter away from her chest.

It happens faster than Peggy was prepared for. The window she was looking at shattered, and a man dressed in black breaks in.

Peggy startled. She covered her baby’s head as she began to shriek. She knocks the kitchen table over, in an attempt to create space between herself and the man. She leaped back to avoid the scalding tea and sharp, jagged ends of broken plates, but so did he expertly.

He locked eyes with her, growls. Her eyes roam to the red tattoo on his neck and that’s when her heart sinks.

This isn’t some amateur robbery.

She’s been found by Hydra.

Peggy looks down at her baby and panics. She has several weapons in her house. Not nearly as many as she had if this were to happen a few weeks prior. Steve spent time baby proofing and de-gadgeting their home as much as two agents could bear.

Three weeks ago, Peggy’s cell phone used to double as a grenade, as did her lipstick and her compact mirror.

 _All_   which have been removed and altered for the baby. Her options are limited. Her rifle is the closest accessible, but _god_ , her baby. 

She can’t shoot with her baby; she’s going to have to put her down.

He’s not going to let her do it, she knows. She goes for the cereal cupboard. She kisses the baby, and shuts her in it, praying to god he’ll keep her safe. 

“I’ve come here to eliminate you.” The agent says with a Romanian ( _or was it Russian?_ It’s too early in the morning for Peggy to decipher) accent. 

Peggy uses his speech time to grip a frying pan. Holding it aggressively in front of her in a stance.

“I was watching you,” He continued, “I heard about you. Very strong lady. I was supposed to snipe you from the roof. Thought it would be too easy. I wanted to fight you myself.”

The only reason why this man was still on his feet was because of the gun he had pointed right at her.

That. And her head was spinning.

“I’m flattered.” Peggy deadpans, strengthening her grip before whacking him with it lightening fast. 

He curses and falls.

She bolts for the cupboard. Takes the screaming baby and climbs up the recipe bookshelf.  Her rifle is still there. She takes it under her arm and slides back down. She cocks the rifle and prepares to shoot when... 

The man is no longer on the floor. 

She spins again, confused.

Tired.

Surely she didn’t imagine the whole thing up?

No. The tea is spilled on the floor. She can feel the draft from the broken window.

Peggy puts a hand to her head. She’s sweating.

She needs to lie down.

She can’t lie down.

Her head is pounding. She needs the baby to stop crying.

She goes to the nursery and brings her rifle. She knows the baby won’t be safe anywhere _._

But she needs to _try_.

She places the baby in her crib, kissing her soft cheek, and wishes for Steve. She can feel her vision blurring. 

 _Don’t cry_ , she tells herself, _don’t cry_. _Don’t cry_. _Don’t sleep_. _Don’t cry_.

She leans against the wall. But she’s so _tired_.

 _Don't sleep_.

She doesn’t know where the man went. Surely he hasn’t left the house. She wishes he did, but this is Hydra. Deadly, lethal Hydra.

We-will-kill-you-in-your-sleep-without-mercy-and-absolutely-no-remorse-because-we’re-psychopathic-terrorists-with-an-agenda _Hydra_.

Peggy forces away those clouding thoughts, closes the door to the nursery and stalks down the hall.

She shoots.

Not at anything particular, she just needed to affirm where—

Another gunshot goes off. One that didn’t come from her. 

 _Okay._ She thinks. _Alright_.

He's downstairs.

Not ideal, but doable.

She goes down back to the dining room and adjoining kitchen.

Suddenly there’s two men.

One of them is holding the baby.

Peggy blinks.

Her vision blurs again.

_No._

No. No _._

_What?_

She _just_ put the baby in the nursery. She’s certain of it.

She did…Right?

Yes. Of course she did. She knows she did but the man has her. That’s not possible.

How could anyone have gotten past her?

Wait…Is that Agent Brock Rumlow?

_Oh, thank god._

“Agent Rumlow! This man is a Hydra assassin. Take my baby away, _please_. Take her somewhere safe. I can fight this man. I just need a little help.”

Rumlow laughs.

The other agent glances at him. “You know her?" 

“I pledge allegiance to Hydra," He reassures him, "I became a SHIELD agent to spy for Hydra. Tony Stark called me. Asked me to check in on you," He says, nodding at Peggy, "What a coincidence. I was going to check on you anyways. Idiot over here was supposed to have killed you by now.”

_What?_

The first agent uses Peggy’s shock to shoot at her.

She just barely misses, and she's blindsided when another round comes firing at her. The next thing she knows she’s on the floor.

The baby wails.

She feels her leg burning as she gasps in pain. She pushes her hands against the floor. Crawls to the kitchen.  _Get up_ , she tells herself, _get up_. _You’ve been shot before; you can get up. You have to. Get up!_ Her mind screams at her, willing herself to move. 

She can’t. 

She goes for the rifle again but Rumlow kicks it out of her reach.

She clenches her jaw and swallows down another gasp of blinding pain. She has never hated a man so furiously.

She can see the first man aim to shoot again, and she wouldn’t have cared. Would have given up. She’s so _tired_.  Peggy would have prayed for Steve not to hate her, begged that he’d forgive her if he finds out she didn't fight to survive.

She wouldn’t have cared...If only Rumlow wasn’t aiming _at her infant._

“Wait!” She rasps, crying. “Brock. _Please_. Wait." 

He sneers at her. "Don't give me orders, bitch. You're not _my_ commanding officer. I don't have to listen to you."

“My baby. _Please_. Don’t _kill_ her. _Please.”_ She pleads, hiccuping, barely catching her breath. All she wants to do is put her spinning head down. Close her eyes. But she can’t.

Her angel. Her baby.

“We can offer you a deal.” The first man says. 

Rumlow gives him a funny look.

“Do we really need to kill the baby?” The first one shoots back.

“No!” Peggy says desperately between sobs, “No. You don’t. _Please! Please_ don’t hurt her.”

“Shut up!” The Rumlow says, kicking Peggy hard.

She cries out. It startles her baby even more, and it breaks her heart to think this is how she’s going to last see her daughter.

“The deal is…” The first one continues. “We kill you. We leave the baby in the house safe." 

Peggy can feel herself going faint. She’s bleeding out. She’s going to die anyways. How does she know she can trust the agent? He’s Hydra. They aren’t exactly loyal. Her brain tries to search for the right words. She can feel herself shutting down.

“…How?” She grits out, trembling against the cold floor.

“How will you know?” The agent guesses, “Crossbones. Excuse me _. Rumlow_ is going to put the baby in the nursery now. Then he’s going to climb out back that window.” He points to the one they broke through in with his gun. "Then I shoot you. Climb out the window. You’ll be able to watch. You’re not going to die instantly.” He sounds smug.

Peggy’s body convulses involuntarily.

She isn’t naive. She very well knows it could be all for show. But she _has_ to believe. What other choice does she have? She thinks of Steve. She sobs again. Her poor Steve. By now she knows. There wasn’t anything in Chicago. This was all an elaborate trick to get to her. And if Brock Rumlow is actually Hydra, what does that mean? Who else is amongst them? Is Steve safe? Is Steve even _alive?_

Will her baby end up an orphan at barely a week old?

What else can she do?

 Nothing.

For the first time Margaret Carter-Rogers is completely powerless.

Her breath shudders violently.

“Very well.”

Rumlow nods and walks upstairs with the baby. He doesn’t support her head, lets it roll back in a way that makes Peggy want to scream. Her eyes follow her daughter until she’s out of sight. Her eyes twitch from fatigue, pain, heartache. It takes the longest minute ever before he returns back and climbs out the window.

It’s her final minute. Peggy realizes. She’s had many near misses, but none of them mattered.

Not in the way this does now.

She accomplished so much. She’s done so much. She would have been satisfied. Would have been proud. But now that her baby is sobbing in the room above her…The baby she hasn’t yet even had the chance to name…

She couldn’t ever be okay with this.

How could she die like _this_? With so much left to do. To be. A wife…A mother. 

She thinks of Steve again. How much she loves him. How much this isn’t fair for him. She loves him so much, she’s sorry she ever brought him into this. He should have stayed an artist. She shouldn’t have approved his recruitment. She loves him so much…

The man aims his gun and shoots.

She keens in agony. He hit her well. Her blood is pooling. She’s going to loose sight in a matter of seconds…And then everything else. she can tell. This is it.

She holds on. She holds on as the man lowers the weapon. She feels herself slipping away but she holds on as he walks past the turned table, splattering his boots with tea. She’s writhing. But she holds on. He has half of his body out the window. She only needs to stay for a little longer. He turns back at her. She holds on. She needs to see it. She holds on. She needs to know _she’s_ safe. She holds on. He leaves.

The baby is safe. They’re gone and she’s safe. And she’s safe and they’re gone.

And...She hopes Steve will be there for her. The way she can’t.

_She’s safe._

She lets her eyes close.

She doesn’t hold on anymore.

 ~.~

Natasha knocks on the door politely then opens it after thirty seconds. 

She sits on the bed next to where a man flexes his arm repeatedly, eyes seemingly transfixed to it.

“My name is Natasha, I’m a friend of Tony Stark and Dr. Banner. The ones who helped make your arm.” She says kindly.

 “I’m Russian.” She offered, when he didn’t reply. 

She sits with him, and they stay quiet for a very long time.

“They called me Зимний солдат,” He says finally. His voice low and rough from disuse, “It was an insult. Я ненавидел его.”

“I’m not going to call you Winter Soldier,” she assures, “What’s your real name?”

He goes quiet again. Natasha takes her time.

“Bucky.”

“How did you learn to speak Russian, Bucky?" 

“I used to be a linguist as a child. I already knew. It made it worse, to hear what they said when they thought I couldn't understand. Or maybe it made it better. I don't know.” He shrugged slightly.

“They took your arm? To get you to talk?”

“Да.”

“Did you?”

His face is stony, his eyes expressionless.

“…Да.”

Natasha takes his flesh hand and squeezes it gently.

“Спасибо. Thank you. For finding me. I almost lost myself,” He says hours later.

“Пожалуйста.”

She didn’t think he would remember.

 

~.~

 It takes two and a half hours to fly from New York City to Chicago. It’s a little past two in the morning and Steve’s just wondering when they’re going to land when his ears begin to pop, a tell-tale sign that the plane is descending. He closes his eyes for a moment, trying to will a couple extra minutes of sleep. He hopes Peggy is fairing okay.

The plane hits a bit of turbulence, and Steve has to hold onto his seat as the plane begins to shake. He looks out the window and his stomach turns. Something isn’t right. Why are they headed for Lake Michigan?” 

“Hey!” Steve says, unbuckling his seat belt and rushing to the cockpit. “Sitwell? What’s going on?” 

The pilot jerks the controls suddenly.

“Hail Hydra.” He says solemnly. 

Steve’s eyes widen, looks out the window for a second to see the plane nosediving towards the water.

“It’s too late, the plane is going too fast, there’s no way out.” 

Steve has never clocked a man out so fast in his life.

Sitwell slumps in his seat. Steve pushes him out of it and takes the controls and flicks all of the radio switches frantically. 

“Rogers? Your aircraft’s communications were cut off. Can you hear me?” A voice interferes, and Steve has never been more glad to hear Tony Stark's voice.

“Yes! _Yes_ , Stark, it’s me.” Steve says frantically. “I’ve been high jacked. Sitwell went rogue. I have your jet hurdling into Lake Michigan at two thousand miles an hour. How do I stop it? How can I land it?”

Tony’s voice breaks off. 

“STARK!”

“Fuck.”

“Swearing at me isn’t going to do anything, I think I have fifteen minutes.”

“You can’t land it,” Tony says. “Not safely, anyways.”

Steve’s heart plummets to his stomach.

“I think I’m going to have to put her in the water,” he says after a beat. “Tell Peggy I'm sorry and I love her.”

Tony scoffs over the radios. “Don’t be melodramatic. This is the 21st century. Listen, what we’re going to do is this: Give me your coordinates. I’ll have headquarters deal with the plane. You jump.”

Steve shakes his head. Then remembers Tony can’t see it. “Sitwell told me there wasn’t a way out.” 

“Fuck Sitwell. He said that to rattle you. _I_ designed that jet, there’s at least three emergency exits I can think of that the little fucker probably hasn’t locked. You have a parachute right?”

Steve recites his coordinates before climbing out of the pilot chair, glances quickly at the knocked out double agent. “What do I do with him?”

“You can't jump out of the plane with that dead weight, Rogers. He wanted this to be his suicide mission? Fucking make it his suicide mission."

Steve grimaces. He's not happy about it, but Stark was right. Trying to get Sitwell out of the plane would be risky and time consuming.   

“You got your parachute?” Tony repeats.

Steve checks his bags. Yes.

“Yeah.”

He straps it on and looks for the emergency exits.

“Okay. Agent Hill has sent a boat for you, they’re going to find you before you hit the water. Just jump, Rogers. I’m going to disconnect the call now. You need to jump.” 

“Wait!” Steve says.

“Can you have someone check in on Peggy? I’m worried.”

“Sure thing.”

He jumps.

 

He runs.

He heard the others telling him to stop, sprinting after him, but he wouldn’t, _he couldn’t._ Don’t they understand? _His wife_.

He burst in panting wildly, eyes tearing the whole place apart. His veins ran cold. The house was completely turned over.

“Don’t go in the kitchen!” Tony says.

“You’re an idiot.” Natasha replies to him with a nasty sneer.

Of course, he goes in the kitchen.

The table is thrown haphazardly, drinking glasses shattered, random pots and pans scattered. The air is thick and pungent, like something was burning in the oven or on the stove for a long time.

And that’s when he sees it. The blood. Several forensic scientists grumble as Steve approaches, pushing him away. _Stay away_ , they tell him. _You might tamper with evidence. We need to isolate the crime scene. Agent Rogers, you of all people should know this._

But this isn’t some victim’s kitchen.

This is _his_ kitchen. And that’s not some criminal’s rifle on the floor. That’s _her_ rifle. That’s not civilian blood. It’s _her_ blood.

She died here. 

He cupped his hand over his mouth with a choked sob. Tony and Natasha struggled to hold him steady as his knees gave out. He could feel his mind dazing, but he could not conjure the strength to stop it. He fell limp, crashing down to the cold ceramic floor that bruised, only vaguely aware that his team was shouting for medical attention.

Steve looked down at his hands and saw blood. His blood? No. Why was there blood? _Peggy_ , his mind supplied, but _no_ , she was at home with the baby. He blinked. Looked down at his hands again.

The blood was gone.

“Steve,” Natasha says, he can hear her, but he doesn’t understand why she’s yelling. 

“Shit, don’t do that!” She yanked his trembling hand away from the tiles. 

And then there was blood. Real blood. Smeared on both his and Nat’s palms.

It came rushing back.

Peggy’s blood. 

He jerked violently, retching until he vomited. 

Tony swears.

Hydra manipulated them, showed up at his house, and he wasn’t there. 

Peggy engaged in gun fire, exhausted from labour barely 90 hours prior with his newborn baby and she lost because _he wasn’t there_.

“Oh, God. The baby,” he says suddenly, blind with panic. “ _Where’s my baby?_ ”

Steve scrambles off the floor in hysterics as SHIELD’s medical team appears, talking to him in futile attempts to appease him.

“He’s going to need to go in for shock,” Nat rattles off to the paramedic as they take a grief-stricken Steve by the hand to an ambulance.

“He threw up and lost a substantial amount of fluid. He’s going to be dehydrated.” She takes his hand as they the turn him away from the nightmare and lie him on the standard gurney. For once, Steve doesn't protest, doesn't insist he's fine like every other time he gets injured after a mission. 

He just stares at her and shakes. 

“Bruce has the baby. He’s checking her for injuries or trauma personally.” She says slowly. “He’s going to bring her back to you as soon as possible. I promise. She’s safe. Your baby is safe.” 

She knows he heard her because he stopped thrashing against the safety buckles. His mouth is visibly dry and his voice cracks as he cries.

" _Peggy_ ," He breaks, full of anguish. 

She squeezes his hand tighter.

"I'm so sorry," She says, not knowing what else to do. It wouldn't have mattered what she said. He was too far gone. 

 

The Avengers say they lost a friend that day. But Natasha knew, really, they lost two. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Russian is all google translated, so I'm sorry if any of it is off. 
> 
> Also, I'm going to be on vacation, so the next update will not be for 2 weeks!


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky meet. It does not go well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! Hope you had a nice week! Here's the third chapter. 
> 
> I'm still looking for a beta if anyone is interested.

 

In hindsight, Clint did say this would be a bad idea.

And as he ducks from having his eye punched by an angry dude with a metal fist, he thinks maybe they can get a pass for not listening to him.

 Yeah, nobody ever thought Steve Rogers would start a fistfight with a guy he just met.

 It happened like this:

Steve knocked on Agent Barnes’ door.

He didn't know who he was expecting really, so he doesn't know why he's surprised when Natasha answered the door.  
  
He craned his neck to find Tony awkwardly bent over Agent Barnes’s prosthesis with some type of screwdriver. Dr. Banner was also there, speaking to Barnes in hushed tones, and suddenly Steve realized just how far behind he was on all this.

He was out of the loop for months. They all knew. _Everyone_ knew. He tried to ignore the twist in his stomach.

“Looks like a party,” Steve joked lamely. He couldn't think of anything better to say. 

Barnes twisted around at the new voice while Tony and Banner gave Steve disapproving looks.

He hesitated.

“Is this a bad time?”

“Let me find out for you,” Nat replied, slamming the door in his face.

Steve raked a hand through his hair and stared at blue paint.

 

 Inside, Natasha made her way to Bucky, sitting next to him. 

“Agent Steve Rogers wants to meet you,” she said, knowing Bucky was going to ask who that was.

“Rogers?” He asked uneasily, switching to Russian, “Это человек ? Муж агента, который…?” He looked green.

“Yes,” She confirmed. “He just wants to introduce himself.”

“I don’t want to meet him. I don’t want to talk to him. He’s going to hate me.”

Bruce frowned at Bucky.

"Relax James," he said, offering him a cup of steaming tea. "He’s not going to hurt or hate you. Steve is a very understanding man.”

Tony snorted, making Bucky flinch.

 “You’re not helping,” Natasha muttered to Stark, kicking his ankle. She turned to Bucky.  "There’s nothing to worry about. He _wants_ to meet you.”

“But his wife died. Because of me.” Bucky said thickly.

 “You don’t know that.” Natasha reasoned.

 “I can’t. I can’t look at him, knowing what I did.”

“You didn’t do anything less than any person would have!” She argued.

“ _Any person_ is not a trained agent who cracked under pressure.”

“Bucky,” Bruce said calmly, “You were held prisoner for five years. You had your life threatened—”

“Yeah, I was _there_ —”

" _Stop_."  
  
Everyone froze. There wasn't a soul who didn't know about Bruce’s anger. He was a sweet man but with a disastrous temper. It's why he stayed at headquarters and is only brought into the field as an agent in the direst circumstances.

Bruce pinched his nose, and took several calming breaths.

“What Hydra did to you was unfathomable. The only thing that would make it worse, would be putting blame on yourself for being afraid. You cracked after years of resistance. Nobody asked you to do that. You did it to save yourself.  _Everyone_ understands that. Even Agent Rogers.”

"He's right," Tony said, sharing a glance with Bruce.

Natasha turned to Bucky, waiting for an answer. He’s glaring at the carpet Pepper Potts picked out for him, but his shoulders were less tense than they were five minutes ago.

“Fine, let him in.”

Natasha sauntered to the door and turned the handle.

“It's not a bad time at all,” Natasha said tactfully, answering Steve's original question and ushering him further inside. “Bucky, this is Agent Steve Rogers. Steve, this is Agent Bucky Barnes.”

“Nice to finally meet you,” Steve greeted, offering a hand out to him.

Bucky stared at it, then looked up at Steve with dull eyes before his gaze dropped back to the floor.

Steve lowered his hand awkwardly when it became obvious Bucky wasn't going to take it and cleared his throat.

“I have a few questions I wanted to ask you about the Hydra facility you were held in. You’re probably the best source available at the moment—”

"What?" Bucky said, voice devoid of emotion. 

"The Hydra facility? What was there, who was there, what did it look like, those sort of things."

"Why?" 

“To gather information we could use to find them,” he replied, his eyes narrowing.

"I was tortured for years. Do you know what that's like? Being stripped of your humanity? To beg your handlers to kill you to end it?" Bucky swallowed roughly, "And you think I could remember what information they had hidden there? For what? To deem me as useful, so that my suffering wasn't in vain?"

 

Natasha stared at him, baffled. It was the most Bucky has ever spoke since he came back. 

Tony scooted away from Bucky, chuckling nervously, the way he always does when he’s witnessing an argument that doesn’t involve himself.

“—Bucky.” Bruce scolded, “You’re going to work yourself into a panic.”

“No!” Steve said horrified, "I don’t mean it like that. But you need to understand, you’re the best shot I’ve _got_ —”

Bucky jumped out of his chair and grabbed Steve’s shirt by the collar.

“You think you’re some c _aptain_ who can swoop down and save everyone's life? You think you can fight Hydra alone?” He seethed, rattling Steve.

Steve imagined this. He hoped for it, that Agent Barnes would be cold. It made it easier for Steve to hate him. 

“I can try,” Steve said, shoving Bucky’s chest.

Bucky grabbed the base of Steve's neck with his metal hand, slamming Steve into the wall. Steve spluttered as Bucky squeezed, feeling his throat close up. 

“You don't think I tried, too? They took my _dignity_. My _sanity_.  What makes you think you could be any better? You're _not_ any better. Hydra will fucking take everything from you. They. Will. Kill. You.”

But Agent Barnes wasn't cold. He was troubled. His words were deliberate. Anguished. his eyes, haunted. Agent Barnes shocked him, paralyzed him. Steve wasn't able to fight back. 

 “They— Already—Did—” Steve wheezed out. 

He released his grip and took a step back. Bucky glanced back at the others, all eyeing him wearily in readied stances.

Something exploded. Maybe it was the guilty look in Bucky's eye. Maybe it was because after all these years, Steve still never recovered from that night and Agent Barnes was partly to blame. Even if it wasn't his fault, he was the only person Steve could get his hands on that had something to do with it. 

So he punched him. And the contact, the crunch of skin under his fists, the knowledge that he was _inflicting pain_ was exhilarating. This was everything Steve stood against. But a dam opened up and all of Steve's suppression drained with it. He began to pound on him, truly, and was only egged on when Bucky threw defensive hooks in return. 

Natasha jumped in to break it up though she was pulled into it, and had to hold up her own without murdering either of them. 

“JARVIS! We need backup!” Tony shouted, running out to find Sam or Clint with Bruce hot on his heels.

  
~.~

The last thing Steve remembered after dying, was waking up in a hospital bed.

He must have died. His heart dropped out of his body somewhere between hearing the news and witnessing the stained blood on the kitchen floor and he hasn't gotten it back since. 

He didn't remember falling asleep, but he’d been so wiped this past week, nobody would blame him.  
He had an IV, but wasn't in any physical pain other than this numbness which crept over his skin.

Maybe Peggy—

Oh. Right.

Steve let his eyes roam up to Natasha who was hovering over him.

“I'm glad you're up. Bruce is here,” She said quietly.

Dr. Banner was at the door of the hospital room. He stepped in and handed Steve his swaddled baby.

Steve's baby. That he now had to raise. _Alone._

“She seems to be okay,” Bruce said. “But again, I'm not a pediatrician. She’s going to need follow up hearing tests in case any noises impaired her.”

Steve watched her pink mouth part slightly to take breaths. So delicate. So small. _His_.

“She’s adorable,” Banner said with a small smile, it was all he could muster. He had to be strong for Steve. “What’s her name?”

Steve frowned.

“She doesn’t have one yet.”

The name Peggy was at the tip of his tongue, but he couldn't bring himself to bestow the name of his late wife onto his child. It would make everything so much harder than it already was. Rocking ‘Peggy’ to sleep didn’t settle too well with him either.

He thought of one of the last things Peggy said to him before he left for the ill fated mission. The quote her mother used to say about joy.

He liked the name in abstract. Not when he sees the beauty with her wide eyes open in front of him.

“Can you think of any name that is similar to Joy?” He asked.

They all pulled a blank. 

"I can find a list of baby names on my phone,” Natasha suggested, digging into her pocket.

The three listened as she went through them, Bruce providing comments here and there until Steve found one. 

“Felicity,” he said, liking the way it rolled off his tongue. “It’s English and distinct. Just like her mother.”

“Elegant,” Natasha noted.

“I like it too,” Bruce said with a genuine smile. “What made you choose that meaning?”

“Well,” Steve exhaled, trying to keep the break out of his voice, “As far as happiness goes…She’s all I got.”

  
///

After the whole "Rogers Meets Barnes Fiasco", Director Fury let Steve off early. Those were the words he used, yet Steve wasn't fooled, it was really a short administrative leave. 

He was embarrassed but not above admitting it.

He knew what he did was wrong. He sat quietly in defeat as his friends yelled at him. Agent Barnes wasn't hurt badly. Tony said he was lucky his prosthetic was fine too or else he would have killed Steve himself. 

Steve sort of wish he had. 

When the rush of it was over, when the adrenaline stopped, when Sam and Natasha dragged him out of Bucky's room, the satisfaction of beating him up stopped too. Steve felt awful. He avoided eye contact with Bucky when Clint and Bruce helped him to the med bay.

All Bucky did was remind him of what he already knew. He's still at square one. Steve took so many hits, _other people_ were taking hits and despite all the effort he's been making, Hydra still stood strong. 

It was all too much. 

Steve was able to pick Felicity up from daycare after lunch, and although the circumstance was unusual, the delighted look on his daughter’s face made it somewhat worthwhile. 

They spent the afternoon together. It was restful. He needed rest. Sam told him that all the time, but he didn't quite believe it until now. Steve felt muscles relaxing that he didn’t even notice were tense.

He took her out for dinner on a whim. He doesn’t do things in public out of what is necessary to function with a child or required for work anymore. It was weird. If he closed his eyes, he could pretend everything was normal. It was nice.

By the time it was six-thirty, they were back at home and Steve was elbows deep in warm bath water.  
Felicity was having a bubble bath, she’s in a phase where she insists on it, and has about ten plastic toys floating around with her. He swears he didn’t buy so many. He asks her if she knew where they came from.

The answer was Auntie Tasha. Again.

“Can you put the ducky down so I can wash your hair now?” Steve asks.

Felicity complies and splashes her hands down, rocking water over the edge. If it weren’t for Steve’s fast reflexes, his shirt would be drenched.

“Alright,” he says, “Daddy’s going to hold your head into the bath okay? I’m not going to let you fall, it'll be just like last time. No wiggling.”

Steve cups her tilted head with his palm and dips her into the tub until her roots are wet. He then goes for the no tears shampoo and lathers everything. Her eyes are squeezed shut adorably, little long eyelashes flickering about and Steve has to resist kissing her. He’s halfway through rinsing the conditioner out of her hair when the doorbell rings.

Steve groans. He can’t leave a three-year-old alone in the bath. Being a single parent sucks. He knew right away it wasn't his friends. Sam has a key and Nat and Clint have their ways around his security system. Everyone else would have the common courtesy to call him first. 

Quickly, he dunks her head back into the tub and reaches for her towel. He wraps it around her, dries her off for a few seconds, then scoops her up and heads to the door. The whole thing takes about a minute and Steve sort of hopes whoever was there would have left by then.   
Steve opens the door and—

 It’s Agent Barnes.

 

 ///

Bucky steps back once he takes in their appearance. Agent Rogers is in an old t-shirt with sweatpants, and, well, the girl is in a towel but she’s squirmy and is kind of accidentally showing him a lot of skin.

“Hi!” She waves, before diving her head into Agent Rogers’ neck.

“Uh…Is this a bad time?” Bucky hears himself echoing Agent Rogers' question from this morning.

“Yes,” He says sharply, making Bucky’s face fall.

"Oh."

Bucky looks disappointed which surprises Steve. Reluctantly he opens the door a bit wider.

“I mean, it’s always a bad time here. Come in.” Steve says, “Let me just—Uh. Dress her.”

Bucky sits on the couch as Agent Rogers carries the girl into another room.

“Who’s that?” He can hear the girl ask him, as their voices drifted off around the corner.

Rogers emerges again five minutes later in a nicer shirt sans the kid.

“Agent Rogers—” Bucky starts.

“It’s Steve.”

“Steve. I didn’t know you had a…Daughter?”

“Yeah, Felicity. She’s almost four.”

Bucky's eyes widen in horror as he does the math. That means—The girl must have been— A _newborn._

He fucked up this kid's life. 

Steve goes to his chair and leans over to look at Bucky levelly.

“Barnes—Don’t take this the wrong way—How exactly did you find where I live and why are you here?"

“Oh!” Bucky says sheepishly, “Uh, Natasha told me? And it's Bucky."

“I see.” _Fucking Natasha._

“Listen, I came to apologize."

Steve frowns, "For what?"

"For almost choking you with my super enhanced metal arm?"

"I'm the one who tried to murder you," Steve points out, with a faint blush. 

"Yeah but... I was completely out of line. You started talking to me about Hydra—And."

He took a long pause. Steve could see him trying to string his words together. Bucky's brows were furrowed in grave concentration.

"I panicked and lashed out at you.”

Agent Barnes— _Bucky_ looked so genuinely upset with what happened, Steve wanted to kick himself.

“Bucky, so did I. I was harsh and should have been more understanding too. I sort of barged in there and started demanding answers. I should have given you time. I should have given _myself_ time. I wasn't ready to meet you.” He admitted. 

“They didn’t tell me that they were planning for us to work together. I didn’t know. All I knew about you was that you were Agent Carter’s husband and she died because I was forced to spill on her. Hydra told me that, you know. They glorified my part in it so many times it made me sick. I thought you were there to berate me, and, you’ve got to understand, I’ve been nothing but yelled at for five years. I was scared of you before you even walked through the front door. I'm sorry.”

Steve’s eyes soften as he spots the purple bruise forming on his jaw. "I'm sorry too. I swear I'm not actually that violent."

Bucky chuckles nervously, wrapping his fingers around the hair at the base of his neck defensively with his metal hand where it suddenly catches.

“Shit!” He says before he could think, jerking it out with his flesh hand now.

He looks at Steve who is glancing nervously around the corner and—  
“Oh my god, I’m sorry,” Bucky mumbles between the fingers slapped over his mouth. “I forgot about the kid. Shi— _God_. _Sorry_. Tony promised he’d fix that.”

He peers over the corner to see Steve’s daughter giggling in the hallway.

“It’s okay,” she calls excitedly in footsie pajamas, “I don’t say bad words!”

Bucky turns back to a shrugging Steve with bugged out eyes. "Her aunts and uncles are spies, I had to teach her about language as soon as she could talk." 

She's still giggling. 

“What a kid," Bucky responds, impressed. 

“Oh, I know. And It’s fine. I get it. I’m not exactly the most fun guy around at SHIELD anymore, so I’ve been told, but I don’t fault you for what happened."

Bucky gives him a skeptical look and Steve has to admit he didn't sound believable to himself either.

"I'm trying not to, really." Steve relents, honestly. 

"You're just a really easy scapegoat for Hydra. But I know you're the victim too. You seem like a nice guy, and I’m willing to work with you and put today behind us if you are. That is, if you'd like to. I wouldn't put it against you if you don't.”

“You sort of lost your fear factor when I saw you covered in bath bubbles,” Bucky admits with a ghost of a smile.

“Good,” Steve breathes, “How about we talk tomorrow, yeah? I have a little one to send to bed.”

“Sure. Sorry for intruding like that. I wasn’t really expecting…Her.”

Steve claps a hand on Bucky’s back. He goes rigid and Steve worries it was a wrong move, but then Bucky relaxes into it in a move similar to arching his back. Steve found it strange until he reminded himself that this man hasn’t had physical touch that wasn’t associated with some kind of pain for a long time and his own actions today contributed to that. He rubs his flesh shoulder for a bit, in what he hopes to be a comforting gesture.

“We don’t get visitors often. You’re welcome here anytime. I bet you’ve been missing out on some quality food. We make great pasta, isn’t that right sweetheart?” He nods to his daughter who is still watching the interaction from the hall.

Felicity nods her head solemnly, “Pasgetti.”

Bucky looks floored. "Wow. Thank you."

Maybe Fury was right. 

Maybe they could be friends. 

 ///

  
When Steve goes to work the next morning waving shyly at Bucky, everybody stares. Wanda Maximoff, who was prepping for a mission with Clint eyed them suspiciously.

“I thought you told me they did not like each other?” She said, her European accent thickening in her confusion.

Clint’s eyes nearly burst out of their sockets. "They don’t!”

“They look friendly now, no?" She snaps her utility belt around her waist with a frown. "Are you trying to trick me?”

“Wanda. Baby—” Clint starts, “When have I ever pranked you?”

“Yesterday. When you told me Steve and Agent Barnes did not get along when they obviously do.” She replies, rolling her eyes at the pet name. It was more of a silly nickname than an endearment. Wanda is the youngest Avenger.

“Okay, the correct answer was _Monday_ because I’m actually not kidding I have a bruise from trying to prevent Steve from punching Barnes’ teeth in. I have no idea what could have happened between yesterday and this morning _.”_

Director Fury approaches the two, watching with them as Steve and Bucky exchange work phone numbers and other contact information through Jarvis.

“It was Sam,” he says.

Sam’s head snaps up from his paperwork two tables over. He turns around to see what everyone was looking at when his eyes open comically wide.

“Oh no—I had nothing to—”

“Follow after Sam, agents. He's incredibly experienced in mediation. He must have talked some sense into Rogers. Remind me to tell Miss Pots to give you a bonus for that. You saved us from a heap of trouble.”

Sam’s protests die at the word ‘bonus.’ Being a SHIELD agent certainly did not leave you scourging for money, but a little bonus on a paycheck where you risk your life everyday is always nice.

“Yes sir, that’s right! I did. They were mediated. By me. Yep.”

Fury was way gone before Sam could finish his pathetic rambles, although Wanda and Clint witnessed the whole thing with raised eyebrows.

"You're embarrassing yourself, Wilson." Says Wanda. 

“What? I used to be a soldier in pararescue. I’m technically not even a spy. Don’t mock my lying skills.”

“You mean your lack of,” Wanda corrects, shaking her head. “Why are Americans so cocky?”

“Your brother was the cockiest dude alive, girl.” Clint points out.

Wanda smiles fondly at the memories of her brother, “I know.”

“Whatever, he totally believed it was me.”

Clint walks off with a pat to Sam’s shoulder, “Sure, man.”

Natasha strolls by Sam a couple minutes later with a mug of coffee and a smirk. She bends down behind him so her breath tickles his ear and it would be hot if it were any other woman and okay it _is_ kind of hot but that doesn’t make Sam any less scared shitless.

“You owe me,” she breathes.

He hopes his gulp is inaudible.

It’s not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> * "This is the man? The husband of the agent who...?"
> 
> All Russian is google translated, since I can't speak the language. Super sorry if it's inaccurate.  
> Also, it feels like the format for spacing was a little off in this chapter. Again sorry. Still getting used to Ao3.  
> New update is sometime next week!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steve and Bucky bond over pasta and Felicity is a heart breaker.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone!! Hope you all had a great week, I wanted to post this chapter which is slightly longer than usual due to it being my birthday on Friday (yay!) and probably not having much time to update in the next week. Anyways enjoy! :)

According to Dr. Banner, Bucky is not quite ready for the spontaneity operations bring. He wants him to be evaluated by a SHIELD certified therapist. And a therapist would need a couple weeks to make a proper decision.

According to Tony, Bucky’s _prosthesis_ isn’t quite ready for fighting in general, so Bucky stays in his lab for a week while Tony makes modifications to make it stronger and resourceful for fieldwork.

Following a meeting set up by Director Fury and Agent Hill with Steve after the events of his meeting with Bucky, Steve has been temporarily prohibited from going on Hydra excursions and taking operations until Bucky is cleared to go with him.

In the meantime, Steve has been tasked with organizing group ops and working closely with Maria who does routine checks for about everything that happens at headquarters.

It’s all a part of the plan to give him a break. Steve hasn’t yet realized, and what he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. 

Steve checks in on Bucky and Tony during his break one day, about four days into this new schedule. He’s not going to admit it to anyone out of fear it will set him back further, but he’s anxious to get back on Hydra’s trail.

He’s surprised when he walks into Tony’s lab to find the two speaking in Spanish.

“Since when did you speak Spanish, Tony?”

Tony doesn’t take his eyes off some metal device he’s planning to insert into Bucky’s arm that he’s got under a microscope.  
“Oh you know,” he says, “Between all of my nannies and maids my dad would hire to take care of me, I sort of picked it up. I know a little Italian too.” He sounded bitter.

“Oh.”

“And I was a language nerd,” Bucky tried to state, though it came out more like a question. “I wanted to be a diplomat. Being an agent is an odd alternative perhaps but it's the same deal more or less…” He laughs a little.

“I think it’s cool.” Steve says, pulling up a chair to sit next to him, “I know some French from high school. That’s about it. I think I want Felicity to be bilingual. I should probably wait for her to start kindergarten first.”

“The earlier the better,” Tony pipes up, snapping his fingers at Bucky to hand him a tool.

Steve shrugs noncommittedly.  

“What brings you here?” Tony asks finally, knowing it wasn’t to be buddies with him. They got along fine, but being interrupted in his lab was rare.

“I wanted to see how you were doing.” Steve replies, looking at Bucky.

Bucky’s eyebrows quirked in confusion at the sudden interest in him. “Me?…Why?”

“We’re going to be partners on the field, right?”

“…Right.”

“So yeah. That’s why.”

“So eloquent Cap, I see why you’re in charge.” Tony deadpans.

Steve rolls his eyes.

There’s a pause, then Bucky starts to speak. “Not bad...I guess. Therapy sucks, that’s not new. I still keep getting my hand stuck in my hair. I guess it’s better than having _no_ hand to get stuck in my hair, so I’m not really complaining.”

“I’m working on that.” Tony says.  

“What about you?” Bucky asks awkwardly.

“Yeah, what about you Cap?” Tony asks, aiming for innocence, remembering The Avengers plan.

"Felicity finally learned how to walk up the stairs properly instead of one foot at a time. It gets us places faster." It was the first thing he could think of. 

"That's cute," Bucky smiles.

Tony disagrees.

“I didn't ask how Felicity was. I could have asked her myself if I wanted to. I asked how _you_ were doing." He says this without glancing up from his microscope and what appears to be a pair of micro tweezers.

 “Uh…”

Steve tries to think of something, a little thrown off. The thing is, he knows exactly how he’s doing. The same he’s been doing for a while. Miserable. Tired. However, he also knows Tony Stark is a blabbermouth, and doesn’t particularly feel like ending up in some form of therapy, possibly jeopardizing his Hydra conquests either. That would be disastrous to his impending progress, which is already frustratingly small.

 “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know how you’re doing?” Tony repeats a little sardonically.

“Well…I guess I haven’t thought about it?”

“You’re thinking about it now.”

“I guess I’m fine.”

“You guess?”

Bucky glares at Tony.

“It’s okay pal, we all have our off days.”

Tony looks like he wants to push for more.

“So…? Did you have anything else to say?”

Steve glances at his watch and turns to Bucky. “My break is ending in a couple minutes; I need to get going. I was wondering though if maybe you wanted to take up the offer…For food… At, uh, at… My place?”

There. He did it. Steve’s shoulders slump in relief.

 “Oh! Uh, sure? I don’t really do anything…Ever. I haven’t had a real home cooked meal yet either.”

Tony’s face goes ashen. “You haven’t? Why didn’t you tell anybody?”

Bucky shrugs, embarrassed, “I don’t know. It’s not like I can cook myself. Isn’t this thing flammable?” He asks, lifting his cybernetic arm up for show.

Tony shakes his head. “That was _one_ time.”

“Oh.”

“It doesn’t matter. That’s going to change after tonight. We can go head over to the daycare together once I get off.” Steve says.

“O—Okay.” He stammers.

“Bye! See you later Tony.” Steve walks out with a little more enthusiasm. Finally, _finally_ he can do something right.

 ///

 “Wait. Do you _like_ Steve?”

“No.”                        

“Because you sound eager and Cap sounded nervous. Almost like he was asking you out on a date. Spaghetti... _Dinner_...I saw Lady And The Tramp."

“It's not a date. It's food. I’m just excited for the Spaghetti.”

Suddenly, a loud crashing noise erupts and a metal cage falls from the ceiling. Clint pops out from the air vent.

“You know that’s all he knows how to make, right?”

Bucky and Tony both scream.

///

Felicity wants to be held as they walk from the parking lot to their apartment.

“She’s really cute,” Bucky says, smiling at her tiny frame engulfed by Steve’s body, “How old is she again?”

“Four,” She mumbles into Steve.

“Not quite yet,” Steve corrects, tapping her nose.

“I thought toddlers were…More energetic.”

“She’s not difficult," Steve says defensively, "She’s tired, you’re getting the mellowed out side of her. Wait until she’s fed.”

They get to Steve's place, and despite the excitement of having someone over for dinner, Felicity is worn out enough to be willingly put down for a quick nap. Steve starts preparing the ingredients when he notices Bucky standing awkwardly.

“I would offer to help but…”

“It’s alright. You can set the table right? I always put everything on the table for dinner in the morning so you just have to place them, that’s good enough.”

Bucky stares at the tablecloth.

Steve turns back from the stove.

“Is there something wrong?”

“I don’t remember,” Bucky whispers so lowly Steve had to strain to hear, “It’s been so long, I forgot where things go.” He sounds like he’s trying not to bolt.

“I can do it instead—”

“No!” He shouts. Then cringes at his own volume, “Sorry. Just. Let me do this. _Please_.” He pleads.

Steve places his wooden spoon on the counter and walks towards him.

“Hey,” he says in a soft voice he usually reserves for Felicity or Wanda on a bad day, and places his hands on his shoulders. Bucky relaxes into it the same way he had the day they met. “It’s okay. It’s okay, alright? I can teach you. The knifes go on the right, the forks go on the left. We use glasses, but Felicity needs a sippy cup, I usually let her choose the pattern so that’s why there’s two…”

 ///

“Why is the spaghetti so…Short?”

“It’s bite-sized. Felicity slurps it up so fast I need to make sure she doesn’t choke.”

They both turn to the kid in the highchair.

She has sauce all over her everywhere, and she seems to care very little about it.  

“Who are you?” She points her baby fork at Bucky.

“Oh, I’m Bucky.”

“Hi Bucky!” She squeals in delight, kicking her feet.

“Oh my god, she’s so cute.” 

Felicity nods as if she already knew this.

“Heartbreaker,” They hear her mutter to herself.

Bucky almost chokes on his drink and Steve has to slap his back a couple of times.

“Who taught her _that_?”

“Natasha.” Steve says with a long sigh, making a face. 

Bucky bursts out laughing, the first time ever in Steve’s company. It’s abrupt, jarring and loud. Steve finds it kind of wonderful all the same.

 ///

Steve is wiping Felicity’s hands and mouth with a wipe when he asks Bucky to pull out a log of cookie dough from the fridge.

“I don’t usually make desserts. I’m sorry I can’t offer you something special. I don’t usually have people over. We’re both addicted to cookies however, so we always have a log handy. We can dip them in milk too.”

Bucky pulls out the cookie dough.

“I don’t see any milk.”

“What?” Steve says, braiding his daughter’s hair out of her face.

“There’s a milk carton in here but it’s empty.”

Steve stands himself up and forces a smile. “I’ll go get more from the corner store.”

He screwed up. Bucky is going to realize how in over his head Steve is. He can’t even bother with consistent grocery shopping. Steve knows he’s falling through the cracks but he needs to push through the way he’s been trying to for so long. The haziness that follows him everywhere he goes. He doesn’t know what happened to it. It seems to have lifted a bit ever since he cried with Sam at work. Steve is slowly coming back to reality. The reality is that he’s doing pretty badly. Something needs to change. He needs help.

Steve automatically goes for his wallet and keys and is about to leave when Bucky raises his voice a little nervously.

“You aren’t going to take Felicity with you?”

“Um. I wasn’t planning to, no.”

The truth was he was so wrapped up in his self loathing he forgot he wasn't alone.

Bucky’s voice wavers, “You trust me enough to leave her alone with me?”

Steve’s eyes soften at Bucky for what seems to be the tenth time that day.

“Well… _Yeah_.”

“Why? You barely know me.”

Steve gets shifty. “I don’t know? She likes you. I’m not going to be very long. More things could go wrong if I left her with Tony or Clint. I can bring her if it makes you uncomfortable—”

“It’s fine. I was just…Surprised I guess. Don’t you know it’s a big deal to leave your kids with strangers?”

Steve gives him a small smile. “I’m not worried. You’re not a stranger to me.”

"But I'm dangerous!" Bucky protests weakly. 

"Are you saying you think you're going to hurt my daughter?"

"No but—"

"Then I'm not worried," Says Steve, and he locks the door behind him. 

 ///

“So…You wanna play Duck Duck Goose?”

“We can’t play that silly.”

“Why not?” Bucky frowns.

“We're only two people.”

Oh right, Bucky thinks, damn this kid is smart.

“What is that?” Felicity asks, pointing at Bucky’s prosthesis. He looks down at it and clenches its fist.

“That’s my new arm.”

“New?”

“I lost my old one.”

“Touch it?”

He flexes it again, it’s becoming instinctual. “Maybe later.”

“Okay.” She runs to her toy box and hands him a plastic doll. “Play?”

He looks at the atrocious thing and chucks Barbie’s rucked up skirt back down.

“What do I do with it?”

“Play!”

Bucky quirks a smile at her. 

“How does your Daddy play this game?”

“He don't. I play myself.”

Bucky frowns. “Why not?”

She shrugs her shoulders and says, "Daddy's tired and sad."

He puts the doll down. “Felicity, is your dad sad a lot?”

“I hug him ‘fore daycare so he can be happy.”

Bucky shoves down the anger at himself that rises when he thinks about how he affected this family so horribly. It’s hard. He’s doing better at it, but it’s still hard.

He swallows and reaches to her, to give her an awkward hug.

“He misses your mommy. He loved her a lot.”

“You know Mommy?” She whispers.

His chest constricts.

“Yeah. I knew her.”

“Oh.”

She starts to cry.

Oh fuck.

“No! _no no_. Sweetie. Please don’t cry. Shit.”

“I wanna know Mommy!” She cries harder, fisting her hands into her eyes.

“Shit,” Bucky repeats, voice wobbling. “I can’t watch you cry, sweetheart, you’re going to make me cry too.”

It’s too late. The two are hugging each other in the middle of the living room sobbing when Steve unlocks the door and comes back.

He almost drops his bag.

He rushes to the living room, prying Felicity out of Bucky’s grasp and holds her tightly, whispering in her ear and rubbing her back comfortingly. Only then he realizes that Bucky has been crying as well.

“What happened?” He asks, bewildered at the sight.

“I don’t know! She started crying and then I started crying and then we were both crying. I can't stand seeing kids cry.”

Steve quirks an eyebrow in amusement, “I see.”

“Don’t tell anyone at work," Bucky threatens, with a half-assed glare, wiping his face with his sleeve, "Especially Natasha.”

“I want Auntie Tasha!” Felicity begins to wail. Steve grimaces at the volume.

“Don’t worry. I won’t.”

///

“She’s asleep,” Steve says, walking out of her room to join Bucky in the kitchen.

The cookies are ready and the milk is poured into two glasses. They eat them silently.

Bucky debates whether or not he should bring up what Felicity told him. He didn’t want to cause Steve any more grief, but he didn’t think it was a good idea to not explain why his usually calm daughter got so emotional.

“Felicity thinks your sad, Steve.”

Steve takes his cookie and breaks it forcefully.

“I am sad.”

Bucky reaches across the table to get Steve to look at him.

“You’re allowed to be. I just, I think she’s worried about you. It kind of sucks to think that she’s so little and she’s able to notice that.”

“She’s really smart,” Steve admits. “I never wanted her to worry, but I’m afraid I’ve done a bad job at hiding it.”

“I’m sorry.”

Steve looks at him through his hands over his face, his eyes imploring as Bucky stares back at him.

He hates when people tell him they feel sorry for him. Sorry that he has to raise his daughter alone. Sorry that his wife passed. Sorry that he has a lot of responsibilities. Sorry that his life didn’t go the way he wanted it to. It’s different with Bucky. Maybe it’s because he understands. When he walks out of SHIELD headquarters, he gets stared at for his disability. His neighbours pity him when they hear him screaming at night. His sorry wasn’t sympathetic, it was meaningful, heartfelt. Honest. 

There’s something about Bucky that makes Steve want to change. Something about the way he fights his own battles. No matter how awful his last five years were…He’s still here. A little broken, a lot bruised. But still breathing, still alive. Still here.

It's not like _Steve_  was tortured for the last five years. It makes him feel pathetic in comparison. What the fuck is his excuse? People loose their spouses everyday. 

But no. Everyone's story is different. Just because Bucky doesn't share the same trauma doesn't mean that Steve's suffering isn't any less justified. 

Maybe...Maybe Bucky can understand. 

He pushes his plate of cookies away and tells Bucky everything. The way his heart still aches for Peggy despite his longing to move on. His self-destructive addiction to killing Hydra. His fears of not being a good dad for his daughter, that one day when she’s older, she’s going to blame him for her mother’s death. Or worse: Not making it home to her one day. The sheer hopelessness that drags him down. How much he wants to try to do better but can’t seem to figure out how without loosing what little less he has. He doesn't know what makes him say so much, he hasn't ever told anyone. There was just something about him. 

Bucky listens through the whole thing.

When Steve’s done he takes a huge breath and waits for Bucky to reply.

He doesn’t expect he says next.

“It feels better, doesn't it?" 

Steve frowns in confusion. "What?"

"Getting it off your chest? You've been bottling that shit up for a while, haven't you?"

Steve looks down at his uneaten cookie and doesn't say anything.

"It's gonna get better, Steve. I can't tell you how, or when. But it will, right? It has to. You already got through the hardest part. Now you just need to deal with it head on." 

 “How?” Steve whispers.

“I don’t know,” he replies honestly, “Sometimes I ask myself how I’m even out of bed with all that crushes me inside. The thing is, I look in the mirror, right? I so much as glance at where my left hand should be and I’m reminded of what I went through. There’s a physical part of me that’s changed. People notice that. I have support. Therapy, Natasha, Tony and Dr. Banner…You don’t have that. Everything is all bottled up inside and it’s killing you slowly.”

“I do have friends—”

“I know you do. Let them help you, help yourself.”

Steve takes a big, shuddering breath, "Okay."

 “—Wanda, Barton. We need you two on a two-week operation in Bulgaria. Someone's leaking American political intel in an apartment complex there. We think there is a connection between this and the hostage situation you interrupted last week.” Agent Hill informs them during the morning briefing they’re having.

Wanda and Clint grumble a little at the length of their operation, but nod their heads without objection.

“Which leaves us with Agent Rogers who will be going on a covert mission to recover stolen SHIELD files from two wanted men in Vermont. Agent Barnes will be accompanying you. You are all dismissed, jets will be taking off within the half hour.”

Steve sits a little straighter.

“Agent Hill,” He says, capturing her attention, “You don’t want me at headquarters anymore?”

He’s trying hard to sound disappointed. Maria isn’t buying it.

“Let’s call it a trial run. See how you two work together before we send you off to Hydra cells.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” He nods firmly, but his eyes gleam and Maria can’t stop from grinning back.

 ///

“Wow.” Natasha smirks, circling around Bucky like a predator.

“I forgot how tight they made these suits,” He mumbled, avoiding Natasha’s eye contact.

“—Bucky!” Steve jogs towards them, “Great, the flight is about to leave and I wanted to go over some details…” He blinks.

“He looks hot doesn’t he?” Natasha laughs, dodging from Bucky’s swat gracefully.

He’s in a black tactical suit. It isn’t any different from any other standard covert SHIELD suit like the ones Natasha loves to wear, however, nobody can say they particularly pull it off flawlessly the way Bucky can.

Steve is flushing furiously and he doesn’t understand why.

“You look like an agent,” Steve says, stupidly. “Officially, I mean.”

Bucky narrows his eyes. “I always _was_ an official agent.”

“I know—” Steve backtracks and is saved from his mistake when JARVIS interrupts to make an announcement.

“Agents Rogers, Barnes, Barton and Maximoff are requested to begin boarding their respected quinjets destined to Bulgaria and Stowe, Vermont immediately.”

“Thanks JARVIS!” Bucky yells at the ceiling.

“My pleasure, Agent Barnes. I suggest you commence running if you do not want to be scolded by Director Fury for tardiness, who is due to arrive by the elevator to your left in six seconds.”

The three watch Wanda and Clint sprinting up the stairs for the helipad. 

“We gotta go!” Steve calls over his shoulder at Natasha, pulling Bucky by the sleeve behind him.

“Does it really matter that much if we’re late? When Agent Coulson was in charge, he had a more laissez-faire type attitude toward these sort of things.” Bucky said as they grabbed their bags.

“How do _you_ think he got an eye patch?”

“дерьмо”  

/// 

 “You know I was kidding about the eyepatch, right?”

“ _That was a joke?”_

“…You couldn’t tell?”

“Steve. I have no idea when you’re joking. You’re more sobering than an Obama speech.”

“Oh.”

"He's...He's still the President right?" Bucky asks nervously.

"Yep."

"Oh good."

 ///

The mission was relatively straightforward. Someone had to lure Wanted Man 1 away long enough for the other to retrieve the stolen file safely by knocking out Wanted Man 2.

Once the information was secured, they both had to arrest the wanted men.

That’s what happened for the most part.

Wanted Man 1 was successfully lured by Bucky, who ambushed him a while back.

Steve however was having difficulty finding the stolen files.

“What do you mean you can’t find it?” Bucky hisses through their coms.

“There’s this safe that I can’t crack open for the life of me,” Steve answers, dialing the safe frantically, “I feel like a cat burglar. They should have assigned this to Scott.”

“Who?”

“Never mind. Can you come here and try to just rip the door off with your arm?”

“Uh. Hold on, I’m kind of busy.”

What sounds like a quick fistfight followed by a zap and a yelp is heard over the radio before Bucky speaks again.

“Okay. I got this dude out cold. I’m coming in through the back window.”

Bucky climbs up the tree that has branches sturdy enough at the third floor level of the suburban house the men are hiding out in. He punches through the glass with his prosthesis, promptly jumping down from the window sill and into the room Steve is still fiddling with the lock in.

Steve got up from his crouch and backs away, giving Bucky room to grip onto the handle and swiftly yank off the offending door.

“Wow.”

Bucky isn’t going to lie, he was impressed with his new strength too, he was just less vocal about it.  He’s getting tired of hearing Tony wax poetics over his arm.

“Get the damn file, pal.”

Steve reached in and rifled through everything.

“I got them.”

“Yay!” Bucky says sarcastically.

It’s not that Steve and Bucky don’t enjoy working together. The two are becoming fast friends. It’s that they are really 100% fucking done with this rookie level type of mission shit that really, as Steve mentioned earlier, newcomer Agents Scott Lang and his best friend Luis should be handling. It’s slightly insulting. Bucky wants _real_ work like what he used to get. Steve wanted to find the head of HYDRA and have them executed (preferably with his own hands).  They both understood that wasn’t going to happen until this ‘trial run’ was done so they have been rushing since they got off the jet.

They contacted the pilot to come for them as Bucky handcuffed the unconscious criminals and Steve poked around some more for any other signs of illegal activity.

“Did you find anything?” Bucky asks when Steve comes back empty handed.

“Nothing that the local police can’t handle. I’d rather have headquarters deal with the clean up. It gets us back sooner.”

Bucky nods, slinging Wanted Man 1 over his back as their helicopter lets down a latter. “I’d call it a mission success then, wouldn’t you Steve?”

Steve’s mouth quirks as he pulls the dead weight over him, copying Bucky’s movements, and grabbing onto the swaying rope.

“Definitely.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Bucky uttered a Russian swear.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the foundation of SHIELD may not be so solid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: There is some semi-graphic descriptions of torture in this chapter. Also, a panic attack. 
> 
> I am also still looking for a beta, if anyone is interested! :)

It was dark.

It was always dark.

It’s been dark for so long light has become almost unbearable.

They like that.

He would stare at his hand and not be able to see it unless he strained his eyes until his head was pounding.

Shivering in the dark, freezing.

If he tried hard enough he could see dancing spots of colours. Globs of green and red and white flashes. Spiraling circles of rainbows that are hypnotic. That’s it. That’s all that’s there. Nothing to look at but black blindness.

It left his mind to run wild during the times he didn’t feel sloth and sluggish, succumbing to hours of nightmare plagued sleep.

Voices would ring in his ears. His voice. Coulson's. Agent Peggy Carter. Reminding him of how selfish he was. How greedy. How pathetic.

He hated himself for what he did. Hated himself for being afraid. Hated himself for giving up all he could remember in desperate ugly pleas for his life.

What life?

Shivering. Cold. Throbbing.  Aching.  

 _зимы солдат_. Winter Soldier.

Winter because his ghastly face was sunken and pale as snow?

Soldier because he was a victim to the violence and horrors of a prisoner of war? He's been in war before. This was far worse. 

 A door opened. He hissed at the brightness of it all, quivering at the sight one of his tormentors. Скрещенные.

 He no longer cried when they beat him. He took it all, even as his head knocked hard against the wall. His head splitting and his eyes rolling back.  They were ruthless, merciless, left him begging to die every time. They are never so kind to grant him his wish. Always leave him alive. Cold. Dark. Alone.

Disgraced.

Did it matter what they call him?

 Bucky was already dead.

~.~

Steve doesn’t understand what happened.

The mission went fine. Steve was fine.

Bucky is _not_ fine.

They were back at headquarters leaving their debriefing with Agent Hill when Bucky froze in the middle of the hall. His face drew from all colour and his eyes were dilated like a deer-in-the-headlights. His grip on his coffee mug slackened and Steve had to zoom down to catch it before it splattered and broke.

“Bucky?”

Bucky is shaking, sweating, mumbling words under his breath in a language Steve doesn’t know.

“Bucky?” He repeated urgently, following his gaze to what Bucky is zeroed in on.

Nothing that Steve could strike as frightening. Computer science and analytical agents doing their jobs. Security walking the perimeter.

“Скрещенные,” he says louder, snapping out of his daze.

“Hydra!” he grabs a knife from his belt and throws it right at Agent Brock Rumlow.

“Everybody down!”

Agent Rumlow sees it coming and manages to duck so that the blade only grazes his temple before sticking to the board behind him.

He puts his hand to his head where a gash is bleeding, cursing at Bucky and Steve.

“What the hell?”

As agents around them flurry at the threat, the headquarters alarm sounds and Natasha comes running in out of nowhere to help Steve calm Bucky down.

He’s still shaking, seemingly terrified of Agent Rumlow, backing up against Steve, pushing himself as far away as possible.

““Скрещенные,” he says again, faintly.

Natasha frowns.

 “I feel sick,” is all he gets out before he slumps against Steve, lethargic but not unconscious.

“We need Banner. He's the only medic he trusts,” Natasha says briskly to an approaching agent. She whips her head back at Steve. “What happened?”

“He recognizes Rumlow somehow. Called him Hydra. He tried to attack him.” He responded, sounding more confused and concerned with every word.

Agent Rumlow stomps over to them in a fit of rage. “What the fuck, man? This psycho tried to kill me!”

Bucky whimpers. “Stop. Don’t hit me.” He pleads brokenly.

Steve stares in shock as Bucky shakes and begs and cries for his life until he ends up vomiting on the floor.

Agent Rumlow is watching the whole debacle coolly, arms crossed as a medic presses gauze to his head.

“Look,” Natasha says, calculating her every word. Something is wrong here. “I realize you must be pissed off, but clearly this man is extremely frightened of you for some reason and I suggest it would be wise for both of your safety if you were to leave until we can straighten it out. Unless there’s something you have to share that would enlighten us as to why you were associated with a terrorist organization.”

Agent Rumlow rolled his eyes, completely unfazed. “Natalia. You and I both know I was stationed at SHIELD’s base in Ukraine for the last three and a half years. I just got back. I have no idea who the hell this man is.”

"I am _not_ Natalia." She hissed, pissed as hell with his answer. "You will call me Agent Romanov _or you will leave_." 

Bucky is staring up at Steve with desperate eyes.

Steve sits him down on the floor and looks up at Rumlow sternly. “Go to the medic station. Do not come back here until we are gone.” 

Agent Rumlow balks at the order, questioning Steve’s authority.

“ _Now_ ,” Steve snaps angrily, leaving no room for hesitation.

 The medic tending to his wound escorts him away as he grumbles and the two focus their attention on Bucky again.

The other agents have since assessed the lack of threats and have resumed their previous activities.

“Bucky,” Steve says softly, wiping his mouth and forehead with the facecloth Natasha produced from somewhere, “You’re safe. You’re at SHIELD headquarters. I’m Steve Rogers. You're safe. Do you understand?”

Bucky stares up at Steve, lost, until recognition finally seeps into his unfocused eyes.

“Steve?” He croaks, his back goes ridged and his eyes snap back completely, darting back and forth from Steve to his surroundings. Steve watches as he takes in Natasha, the freneticism of SHIELD headquarters, JARVIS’s autonomic voice constantly musing in the background, then lingering on the knife he lodged into the wall.

“You’re safe now, Bucky. Do you understand me?”

He nods once.

“Did you have a flashback?”

“It wasn’t a flashback,” He mumbled listlessly, “I know him.”

“Agent Rumlow?” Natasha intercepts.

“He went by the name Crossbones. He would...”

He looked at his prosthesis and winced.

 “Sometimes he’d disappear for months at a time, but he always came back to hurt me. He’s dangerous…He’s Hydra.”

Bruce shows up then, crouching down to speak to them.

“You need to lie down, Bucky. Sleep it off.” Bruce says gently. 

“I can barely sleep on a good day. How can I sleep knowing he’s here? _Steve_. You need to go after him.”

Steve looks at him helplessly. “Are you sure—”

“I’m not confused.”

Bruce shares a look with Steve.

“Bucky, your body is still undergoing symptoms of severe shock.You had a panic attack, that's bound to have you tired. Let’s go back to your room so I can give you something to let you sleep.” Bruce hauls him up and brings him away.

Natasha and Steve stand up with them, watching them go.

“His fear was real,” Natasha says, once they turn the corner, “he really thinks Rumlow is Hydra.”

“I know,” He replies and sits down on the ground to fiddle with the forgotten SHIELD mug. He stares into the brown liquid. “It doesn’t make sense though.”

Natasha slides down the wall to sit next to Steve. “Does it? Rumlow was stationed overseas in Ukraine: Russia’s neighbouring country, then suddenly he comes back after Bucky was found.”

Steve pauses to think it over. Out of the corner of his eye he watches an agent yanking Bucky’s knife from the peeling plaster.

“I mean, what if Rumlow just looks like this Crossbones guy? There’s no evidence suggesting he’s affiliated with Hydra. He was recruited long after Bucky’s so called death. Whoever hired him would have done thorough background checks.”

“Unless someone higher up is Hydra too.” She says gravely.

“You really believe that?”

“Sitwell was Hydra,” She reminds him. “He tried to kill you. You trusted him for years as your pilot.”

Steve wringed his hands in his lap. 

“I’m not sure. Maybe Rumlow is innocent and Bucky did have a false memory. Whatever it is, there’s still something wrong. If Sitwell was with you, who would have known Peggy would be alone that night and use that opportunity to kill her? You’re not that naïve, there must have been more than one person involved.” Natasha continues, lowering her voice.

Steve’s stomach lurches at the mention of the night Peggy died.

“Are you saying you think SHIELD is compromised?”

“I don’t know. The only people I can take accountability for are the Avengers. Agent Hill, Director Fury. We’re the good people Steve, but take a look around you. Thousands of people work here. We don’t know all of them.”

Steve looks up above him, where thirty floors of secret service agents are working, planning, analyzing, researching. He laughs dryly.

“All I’m saying is keep an eye out. Dig around a little for any relevant information.”

“How long have you been thinking about this?”

Natasha shrugs her shoulders and sighs. “I’m a spy. A good one. Spies don’t trust anybody.”

He nudges her side, “Not even me?”

Her mouth lifts into the faintest of smiles, “Family doesn’t count.”

It’s the closest Natasha would ever admit to loving them all.

“C’mon then,” Steve decides, standing up with a stretch, “I know a little girl who’s dying to see her god mother pick her up from daycare.”

///

Dinner that evening was quiet like every other evening. He helped his daughter when her sippy cup leaked, and kissed her head when she said something sweet.

He was out of it. Bucky’s panic and what Natasha implied after it really rattled him. Is it really possible, that SHIELD could have double agents? After all the years his wife devoted to the organization, to keep the world safe? What about his friends and coworkers? Natasha believes them to all be clean. How does she know for sure?  He thought about Wanda, so high spirited and full of life. So young. She lost her brother Pietro to Hydra, it changed her, hardened her. Stole her youth. If what Natasha says is true, it could have been prevented. Bucky wouldn’t have ever been captured.

He looks at Felicity. She could have had her mother. Is Felicity safe? Her daycare is also run by SHIELD… The more Steve thinks about it, the more he believes it to be real. The more his faith in himself disappears. How can he destroy a bodiless beast like Hydra? _Cut off one head and two will take its place…_

“Daddy?”

He looks up from his plate. He hasn’t eaten much.

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Are you sad? Again?”

His face falls. He can’t seem to do anything right.

“No—I’m…Daddy had a long day, I’m just thinking it over. Am I scaring you?”

She nods a little, “I want you to be happy.”

Steve feels his eyes stinging.

“Oh baby,” He says thickly, reaching across the table to pull her out of her chair and into his lap. “Sweetheart, I’m sorry.” She wraps her hands around his neck and he tries to compose himself.

“I love you,” he whispers fervently, blinking back tears. “I love you so much, you’re my whole world. I want to be happy for you. I’m trying.”

She sniffles against him wetly. “Okay.”

///

That night, Steve drops Felicity at Thor’s and Jane’s house. He told her that he needed to go to work for a few hours that night and convinced her it would be more fun if she slept over. Felicity adored Thor. It wasn’t hard to figure out why. He was strong but gentle, compassionate and kind. He captivated her attention with amazing stories and made up games, however remained authoritative when needed; something Tony and Clint lacked severely. Jane on the other hand was a little awkward with her. She talked to her like she was an adult, which caused her to sometimes forget she wasn’t one, loosing Felicity in absent minded rambles about the astrophysics of “Twinkle Twinkle Little Star”. Either way, Natasha had a night mission, Clint and Wanda were in Bulgaria and he didn’t want Sam’s suspicions.

“Don’t worry!” Thor says, laughing when Steve recites a list of emergency contacts. “She is in good care. She will have the best of times with us.”

“And I’ll bring her to the daycare tomorrow morning,” Jane agrees, taking another weight off his shoulder, happy to help with The Avengers plan to be there for Steve.

“Alright,” Steve nods. It’s not the first time Felicity slept over somewhere else. It doesn’t make it any easier for him to let her go.

“Be good,” He says, kissing her cheek and brushing her hair back affectionately. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning. I’ll stop by daycare and we can have lunch together.”

“Okay.”

///

Steve doesn’t expect to see Maria when he walks into headquarters.

“I thought you had more of a nine-to-five job.” He jokes.

Maria smiles through her headset.

“It’s sort of twenty-four-seven.” She replies, with a hand over the mouthpiece. “Bucky is in his room.” She offers, assuming it’s what he came for.

It wasn’t. He was startled momentarily as to why she would think so. He decides it’s better to not raise questions and thanks her, heading to the tenth residential floor instead of his office. He does want to make sure Bucky is doing better after all.

His door is locked. Steve knocks on it, calling out a greeting as well, knowing Bucky wouldn’t open the door to anyone after this afternoon.

The door opened and Bucky let him in.

He looks awful.

A quick surveillance shows that Bucky has kept the light out, shutting blinds and lamps altogether. His bedroom door is wide open, the mess of sheets is spilling out to the floor. His hair is matted. His eyes are red.

“Um…Hi.” He says hoarsely.

“Hey Buck, I’m here for some research, I’m just dropping by to see how you’re fairing.”

Bucky flexes his metal arm repeatedly. Steve’s noticed it’s a habit he’s picked up. The whirling and clicking noises are very mechanical. It sounds like Steve is at a garage.

“I can’t sleep,” He says after a pause. He shrugs it off like it’s not a big deal. Steve knows it is. Five years. Five _years_ of…He knows Bucky would kill for dreamless sleep.

“Dr. Banner gave me some sleeping pills. They only worked for an hour or so.”

Steve thinks about all the times Felicity woke up with nightmares.

“Is there something particular that’s on your mind?” Steve asks, “Talking helps sometimes.” Following Bucky into his bedroom, he watches him try to clean up for a moment before giving up and sagging to the floor.

“That’s what therapy is for.”

Steve sits on his bed. “I’m just trying to help, Bucky.”

He flinches. “I’m sorry. You’re right. I hate that nobody is taking me seriously. I know what I saw. I don’t care what name he goes by here, that man is Hydra.”

“I take you seriously.”

“You do?”

“Why do you think I’m here?” Steve says with a sigh. “I’m looking into Rumlow for you. I don’t want to see you scared like that again. I want you to feel safe Bucky.”

That’s the thing, isn’t it? Steve wants Bucky to feel safe. He wants Bucky to trust him. It’s surprising to Bucky that he already does trust him. What makes Steve so comforting to him is a mystery to his own mind. He’s attached. He knows that much. He just can’t seem to get why Steve is the same for him… After all he’s done.

“Why?”

“Because you're one of us now, and I always stick up for my team,” Steve says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Bucky looks up at him through his hooded eyes and wonders how he ever got so lucky to have a man like him on his side.

Steve rubs a hand to his back, eyes lingering. “I’m with you ‘til the end of the line, pal.”

Bucky smiles. “Thanks, Steve.”

 /// 

Steve has been searching for over three hours. There isn’t anything pointing against Rumlow in their online data.

Steve doesn’t want to admit defeat. Can’t bring himself to admit Bucky mistook Rumlow for someone else no matter how reassuring it would be.

He’s about to pack up and go when his jacket corner gets caught on a handle in his filing cabinet.

He jerked back and it struck him suddenly.

The Hydra files.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Russian was the word "Crossbones" both times. (Or at least that's what I hope, google translate, amiright?)  
> Next update should be sometime next week!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It adds up.  
> And then it doesn't.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy labour day!

“I think I have a problem,” Bucky says to Natasha the next morning, flopping onto his bed unceremoniously.

She raises an eyebrow at him expectantly, “Does this have anything to do with Steve?”

His mouth drops.

“I think you forgot that I’m a spy who specialties in manipulating emotions. I’m practically a psycho analysist.” Natasha says, flicking her wrist with a proud smirk. 

Bucky shifts uncomfortably. “I think I like him, Nat. _Really_ like him. He makes me feel safe. The way he talked to me last night. Fuck, it made me feel _happy_.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Nothing!” Bucky hisses, “ _Jesus_ , I can’t do anything! I don't _want_ to do anything. He wouldn't want me even if he could." Bucky shakes his head, picking at his duvet cover, "It's fucked up," he mutters darkly,"I killed his wife. I'm fucked up."

"Stop saying that."

"What, that I killed his fucking wife? That I murdered Peggy fucking Carter-Rogers?"

"Shut the hell up," she says, her eyes flashing with anger, "I knew Agent Carter-Rogers, she was my friend."

He stops fidgeting at her tone, and looks up. "I'm sorry. I forgot."

"You did not kill her. It wasn't your fault. Nobody blames you. Steve doesn't blame you, so why are you making yourself suffer?"

Bucky rolls to his side, and leans on his metal elbow. "It's all I know how to do," he says softly. 

It's silent for a while. 

"So..." Natasha starts, "About your crush on Steve."

"it's not a crush," he stammers, not fooling anyone. 

"About your _crush,_ " she continues, propping her feet up on his bed to kick him a little. 

Bucky sighs resignedly, "What does it matter. He's straight and like I just said, it's really messed up."

He pauses. “Why are you laughing?”

“I'm not laughing," She says indignantly, but she's smiling and it's pissing him off. 

"What's so funny, I literally just said that he's straight and—" 

Her mouth twitches and Bucky stops and looks at her like she has four heads. “He had a wife! He has a _daughter._ ”

Natasha shrugs. 

“You know what. I’m out of here,” he grumbles, and sulks away.

“No wait! Come back.” She says, sobering a little. “Bucky. Listen. You want my honest advice on your problem?"

"That's why I called you here." 

She nods and reaches for his flesh arm. "As much as I support both of you, Steve is not ready to be in any romantic relationship right now. He doesn't need the confusion that your feelings may bring. He needs time to heal."

Bucky shrinks. “I know.”

"You're not ready for it either." She says bluntly. 

That stung Bucky. He knows now's not a good time for anything, that wasn't the point. It's how he feels.  Shouldn't that count for something? This _thing_ he has for Steve, it's _new_ and _nice_ and the most emotion he's felt for anything since he came back that wasn't hatred or fear. It was precious to Bucky, the lightness in his chest, the smile that the thought of Steve brings him. Can't he be allowed to cherish that? It's not like Bucky will act on it. He just wanted to share it with someone, and Natasha keeps more secrets than anyone he's ever met. Instead, she squashed that hope and made him feel inadequate. She didn't mean to, Natasha never means to be harsh, but she turned it sour, and for that Bucky doesn't know if he could forgive her. 

He yanks his arm away. 

"I'm sorry," She says, but they both know she stands by her words and is, in fact, not sorry. 

“The best you can do is be there for him. Just like he's there for everyone, _that's_ what he needs right now. When things get better, and Barnes they _will_ get better, maybe you can see where your feelings may lead."

Bucky bristles at her words, but he knows it’s true.

Besides, he doesn’t deserve someone like Steve anyways.

///  

Steve turns the hundredth page when his office door opens.

“What the fuck? Have you been here all night?”

He looks up wearily. It’s Sam. He goes back to subsection fifty-two. Most of it was in Spanish, he’s been having JARVIS translate for him off the record so that nobody—except for Stark, of course— would be able to have access to the findings.

There isn’t anything substantial other than horrific counts of terrorism and an equally disturbing mission statement from a deceased leader that reads:  _When history does not comply, history is changed._

Sam doesn’t take to being ignored kindly. He walks up to Steve and peers over where he’s hunched over.

“Are those them Hydra files you nearly busted your ass to get?”

Steve nods, leaning further into the text as if having the words closer to his retinas would enlighten him.

“Do you even know what time it is?” Sam asks, exasperated.

“Three in the morning?” Steve guesses, then pauses. “Why are you here at three in the morning?”

Sam stares at him impassively.

“Look at the clock, Steve.”

It was nearly eight o’clock. 

Briefing was in an hour.

Steve looks up at Sam’s unimpressed expression. Steve doesn’t say anything, just goes back to the readings and flips a page. He'd rather not be the object of Sam's wrath, no thanks. 

“Would you like me to scan the foreign language detection in paragraph eight for you, agent Rogers?” JARVIS supplies helpfully.

“No thanks, JARVIS,” Sam interrupts before Steve could reply. “Have an intern pick up some breakfast and coffee for Steve. Don’t help him again until he is well fed and rested.”

“Very well," the AI responds. 

Sam slides the mass of papers into the corner farthest from Steve as he protests weakly, and closes his laptop.

“Please tell me you didn’t leave your daughter at home,” Sam says.

Steve shoots him a dirty look that makes Sam feel goddamn awful. Steve wouldn't do that. 

“I _really_ need to get through these. Do you think you could convince Fury to not assign me anything today?”

Steve’s pleading. Whatever it is he’s been up all night trying to find, it’s important. The way he’s behaving suggests someone’s _life_ might be at stake.

It clicks suddenly.

“Are those—Did you find the Hydra reports on—” Sam cuts himself off. The night Peggy was assassinated was dubbed as SHIELD's personal 9/11. Everything that could go wrong went wrong: Steve’s plane with Sitwell going rogue, even Fury was found tied up in his office the next morning, preventing him from warning everyone from the danger when he clued in something wasn’t right. The whole agency was prepared for a lock down, assuming they were going to be attacked.

The attack didn’t come. It was clear who the only targets were.

“No,” Steve says quickly.

It didn’t add up. If it wasn’t Peggy or Felicity…Who is Steve trying to protect?

Oh no.

Oh God.

“Were they looking for _me?_ ” Sam asks, blanching, gripping the front of Steve’s desk.

Steve picks up his panic, and waves a hand. “No, no. It’s not you,” he reassures him. “I’m—”

He shifts his gaze, looking like a child caught with a stolen cookie.

“It’s for Bucky.” He confesses.

A confession, Sam realizes, it certainly was.

///

Sam keeps a pretty good poker face. He gets Steve out of his chair and down to the kitchen for some food. He watches as he calls Jane to check in on how Felicity was and shares some inside joke with Agent Hill.

Fury allows Steve for a day off field work. It’s been quiet lately anyways, he lies.

Sam leaves to go host a group therapy at the Veterans Affairs he still holds once a week and works on autopilot, forcing himself to forget Steve and The Avengers for a moment and focus on his job of helping _other_ people for a change.

He gets home that night and gets to whipping up dinner. He finds himself leaning against the counter as the oven goes off and finally reflects over the strange morning he's had. The annoying beeping was not nearly as incessant as what was going through his head.

Sam keeps a pretty good poker face but he can’t keep it forever. 

Something was wrong.

Sam is Steve’s best friend. He knows what would get Steve out of his house to pull an all-nighter.

Sam knows Steve cares about Bucky in a weird we-should-hate-each-other-but-we-don't way, but he lied to him. This wasn’t just about Bucky. It was more. It’s got to be more.

Only Peggy would get Steve worked up like that. Peggy...Or something that involved her legacy, her reputation.

SHIELD and The Avengers initiative.

Sam’s mouth goes dry.

There was something _wrong_ and Steve in true fashion felt obliged to fix it alone.

What is Steve hiding?

/// 

 Steve spent half the morning analyzing the stolen Hydra files to the best of his ability. There was absolutely nothing. It’s not very surprising. Steve isn’t sure why he’s so disappointed. Now that he’s had his coffee and there’s sunlight streaming from his window, his idea seemed rather silly.  Why would Hydra keep records of double agents— _If_ Rumlow was a double agent, he had to remind himself glumly— In unlocked cabinet files in Mexico?

Steve rubs a hand over his face and sighs.

He doesn’t want to let Bucky down. He wants to believe him.

The only way to do so without hitting randomly guessed Hydra cells across the globe would be to covertly investigate Rumlow himself.

Which is illegal, against organization protocols, stupid and all together irresponsible.

Steve's mind flashes back to the way Rumlow watched Bucky cry with indifference. Something is pulling him to take the threat seriously.

Bucky’s dead eyes last night.

He doesn't want to see them like that again.

He’s going to do it, anyways. Cautiously.

Steve is starting to comprehend Sam’s lectures. He _has_ been careless with Hydra. He does need to think of his family first. But he has a duty. A personal vow to protect that he plans to honour.

So he will. Only now he’s not going to do it alone.

///

Steve takes the short walk to the adjacent building that holds the SHIELD secretive and exclusive daycare. He goes to the pick up center and informs the secretary that he’s signing Felicity out for lunch and is planning to return. The secretary smiles at him, pleased, and Steve tilts his head at the unexpected kindness before it dawns on him that it’s the first time he’s ever taken her out during the workday just for fun in a very, very long time.

He slides the pen back to her with a thanks, turning the corner to the ‘Butterflies’ where the children Felicity’s age is grouped together.

The daycare worker beams at his arrival, exclaiming that Felicity was expecting him. She points to where she’s sitting alone, looking through a colourful picture book. She glances up, undoubtedly feeling their gazes and cracks into a beautiful smile when she sees him that is so _Peggy_  Steve can’t _not_ smile back.

He picks her up and hikes her onto his hip as they returned to headquarters, walking out the front door as opposed to going the way Steve came, feeling the sun beat down on them and answering her questions about lunch.

“Did you have fun with Uncle Thor and Auntie Jane?”

“Yes!”

“What did you do?” He asks, as they passed by a floral stand. A thought struck him suddenly.

 Felicity was in the middle of recounting some fairy-tale Thor told her about a species named Frost Giants that Steve was having trouble following.

“How about we say thank you with some pretty flowers for Auntie Jane?” He interrupts, pointing to the stand.

Her eyes gleam at the choices and he lets her down to sniff them as the elderly saleswoman coos over her. He goes for his wallet and hands the woman a bill and tells her to keep the change when Felicity settles on purple dahlias. He takes the bouquet and pulls one out to give to her. She takes it gingerly, inspecting and poking it with tiny fingers until she deems satisfied and offers it back to Steve. He rolls his eyes fondly at her short attention span and snaps off the stem to shorten the flower and stick in her hair. He offers to pick her up again. She declines, content with holding his hand instead.

They make it back to headquarters and take the elevator to the labs to drop off the flowers for Jane. She too was out for lunch, so Steve left a note with the bouquet and placed them on her work desk. They waved when Dr. Banner walked by and went up another floor to Tony’s wet lab.

“Wait here,” Steve tells her as he opens the door, knowing very well Tony could be in the middle of a potential hazardous experiment with the likelihood to explode.

Tony has got some funky looking goggles on but the coast is clear.

“Hey Tony, want to grab some lunch with us?”

Tony looks up from his graduated cylinder and squints.

“Who’s ‘us’?”

“Me. Felicity.”

“Ah,” Tony replies, “Captain America and my favourite snot-monster. Sure.” He looks at the scatter of instruments around him. “Let me clean up.”

He removes his goggles and gloves, puts his lab coat on a hanger, yells at JARVIS to get someone to dispose the toxic solutions and calls it a day.

They chose a family friendly diner, a hole in the wall avenues away from the big streets. Steve’s attention was half split between cutting Felicity’s chicken tenders into smaller pieces and Tony’s never ending story about altering some of the JARVIS coding. This isn’t why Steve invited him here. He knows it, and he’s willing to believe Tony knows better too.

Tony does, of course. Egotistic, he’ll allow, it does not mean he’s not perceptive. Still, he continues on with his story without prodding Steve’s intentions until he brings it up when he’s ready and Tony is proud of himself for resisting for so long.

When Steve seems content that his daughter can handle her food on her own, he straightens his back in his own seat and lifts his fork to his mouth for a bite. He eats quietly, mouth closed and jaw tensed. He clears his throat after a sip of water, leans in and places his palms clasped together on the table. Tony watches intently. He wasn’t sure if what Steve wanted to discuss with him was personal or professional when he invited him, but now it’s clear. He’s settling into his formal business voice. His shoulders are rolled back and his jaw is set. His eyes are locking into his. It’s the same stance he holds when directing The Avengers, the same pose when he negotiates with allies, when he’s prepared for a fight. It’s the look of a Captain.

“Stark—” He begins, and Tony has to stop him right away.

“Steve buddy, you asked me out for lunch. The proper etiquette would be to address me by my first given name and walk me back home— However we’re on a break from the same workplace so that’s a given.” He says with a smirk, “I don’t need my hand kissed though, thanks, I believe that courtesy should go to the lovely lady at the table.” Tony picks up Felicity’s hand and kisses it ever so seriously. He peers into what’s left of her plate. “Milady needeth more ketchup packets!” he calls to a nearby waitress, earning a smile and a giggle from each—And a hard eye roll from Steve.

“Tony,” He corrects, “I need your help. You were there to help me when Sitwell went rogue. I wanted to thank you.”

Tony nods.

“I came to you with that night in mind. I think there might be others.”

Tony furrows his brow, “Others?”

“Double agents. Defects. Hydra loyalties within SHIELD.”

Tony puts up a hand in disbelief. “Hold on, it’s been three years since this has happened. Why is this an issue now? Where has this come from?”

Steve keeps his hands clasped as he leans in closer, glancing from side to side as if there might be ears eavesdropping.

“Bucky,” he says, “He had a panic attack the other day claiming someone used to be one of his captors.”

“Oh.”

Tony sits back in his chair to mull it over. He had a soft spot for Bucky, hell everyone had a soft spot for Bucky, but even he was aware that trauma victims were frequently subjected to false memories, triggered by similarities from their recounts that are not always accurate. It’s a psychological defense, the brain forgets to protect itself and heightens emotions that blurs reality. Why is Steve turning a blind eye to this? He knows Steve is watching him carefully. He wants to be able to confide in Tony, he wants him to trust in him. He reaches for his mimosa and takes a slow sip. Fine, he’ll play along.

“Who?”

“Agent Brock Rumlow,” Steve says with obvious disdain.

Tony scoffs. Steve never liked Rumlow. Rumlow is a dick. He worked dirty. He only barely followed the orders of superiors, which would be a bigger offense if he were not so damn good at his job. Of course Steve would follow a lead that would suggest him being a defect, they were complete opposites. Tony didn’t think highly of Rumlow either, but he was stationed in Ukraine and…Out of sight out of mind.

“Have you had time to think this through before you…What exactly did you come to me for? Guidance? Enlightenment?”

“ _Look_. I know there’s no evidence pointing against him at this moment other than Bucky’s claim—But I trust him Tony, you weren’t there to see it. It was bad.”

Tony looks to his right. Felicity is finger painting her bowl with ketchup pictures. Steve hasn’t yet taken notice. He’s determined to fight to get Tony to agree with him, it means, that he’s so focused on getting his point across he hasn’t stopped his daughter from misbehaving.

“I want to place eyes on him. Or ears, I’m impartial to either. You know it’s prohibited to spy on allying agents without permission from the heads and you know they won’t let me. And what if there’s heads of SHIELD who are actually _Hydra_ and we end up tipping them towards our suspicions,” Steve continues, burying his hands in his hair, “You’re the only one who could get me to bypass it with JARVIS.”

 _Okay, so Steve is paranoid,_ Tony thinks. So much for the plan for Bucky to help Steve. More like he was just what was needed to derail the train wreck that was Steve fucking Rogers.

Steve’s eyes dim dramatically when they level with Tony’s.

“You don’t believe me,” He says gravely, sounding tired.  

“Ehh,” Tony says noncommittally with some dramatic hand gesture. “I want to, I do, but no. Not really.”

“Natasha does,” Steve replies, trying not to chide.

“Really?”

“I think so,” he backpedaled. Natasha never gives outright opinions on work matters, she steers people into a certain direction and then disappears so that they can decide for themselves.  Some call it manipulation. Steve calls it annoying.

“Cap, I know you don’t agree with Rumlow’s aggressive style. Sure he’s secretive, hostile, yeah, it’s just that—He’s the one who went to check on Peggy the night she died. He was the one who alerted us she was attacked.”

Steve’s jaw dropped to the floor.

“I—” He swallowed hard, at a loss for words.

“I didn’t know that—The only ones around by the time I got there were Natasha and…You.”

“Well I would know, you asked me to send someone for her and he was the one who answered my call at base.”

Steve nodded dejectedly, squeezing his eyes shut at the flood of memories that night brought. He hunched over his chair with his elbows digging into his knees, exhaling loudly. He was defeated then. Bucky mistook Rumlow for someone else. He’s going to have to confront him and apologize for encouraging a very deluded accusation. It won't be pretty.

Tony sighed, running his fingers over the rim of his glass as he watched Steve. A concerned waiter approached them a minute later, and Tony shooed him off with a wave of reassurance. “Totally fine, bad break up,” he lied.

He couldn’t imagine what Steve must be going through. The night that Peggy died haunts him and Tony feels his heart seizing at the fleeting thought of Pepper with a similar fate. Either way, Rumlow was innocent. Wrong place at the wrong time.

Steve finds himself stuck on that night, regardless. His mind is stubborn and won’t go down without a final fight. He does the math and it adds up.

And then it doesn’t.

He jumped out of the plane at approximately 3:30 AM, however he only got the life-changing call from Natasha when he was already three-quarters way back to New York City at 6:00.

He only lives forty-five minutes away from headquarters without traffic. Steve goes rigid and shivers violently as if someone spilled buckets of ice water down the back of his shirt.

He raises his slightly red-rimmed eyes slowly and locks his gaze with Tony.

“What time did Rumlow call you back with a status report?” Steve asks roughly, a tremor in his voice.

Tony’s mind reels. He remembers patching through a call at the base. He was in one of his laboratories, working on something he can’t seem to remember anymore in the chaos that was that night. He was hoping Maria would answer, but he got Brock instead. He promised to check in on her and get back to him. Meanwhile, shit hit the fan when he went to call an urgent emergency meeting with Director Fury without reply, prompting him to physically drive to his house where he found him knocked out and gagged in his own living room. Rumlow did call back with a status report…Three hours after Tony called him.

“Oh shit.”

Steve whacked the back of his head against his chair, clenching the handrails with white knuckles and grits out a mild curse in comparison to the long spew of expletives rolling off Tony’s tongue.

“Bad words!” Felicity shrieks at both of them, covering a sticky hand over her mouth and pointing.

They both stop to look at her briefly, before launching into a complicated, detailed discussion about a series of methods to go about law-breaking gathering of intelligence and espionage.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long wait! I write several chapters in advance than I post, so I had this chapter all ready to go two weeks ago, but I've been doing some major revising with a plot line and basically had to start over again! GAH. Anyways, enjoy! :)

A month goes by and Bucky and Steve have teamed up for several successful missions. Agent Hill and Director Fury seem pleased with their progression. Steve is reporting less cringe worthy actions committed out in the field, and Bucky is proving his skill and abilities despite his obvious set backs. A lot of credit goes to technological advancements and functioning of the cybernetic arm. Tony preens.

Steve and Tony haven’t spoken about their investigation on Rumlow to anyone else. The truth is, work got busy in the last few weeks and there was simply no time for additional high security hacks within their own system. In the meantime, Tony requested JARVIS to occasionally monitor Rumlow under the pretense of a standard HQ surveillance, and to only ever report suspicious activity. There has been none.

Bucky doesn’t know. After his panic attack, they tiptoed around Bucky’s sensitivity to the situation. Because what if they were wrong about him, and he’s innocent? And even worse, what if they’re right?

It’s much more serious now. The stakes are higher and the consequences of a single wrong move are unpredictably dangerous. It’s more than some Hydra cell offshoot in Russia. The involvement of Agent Rumlow in the ordeal that was Peggy’s assassination drew a deeper wound in the flesh that was SHIELD. Who could they trust? How will they know? Living a life full of secrets was nothing new for an agent like Steve. It’s when the truths become lies and the secrets unravel and everything you knew to be concrete loosens at the seams, unravelling every interlacing, interlocking thread before you, it gets hard. Leaving you with a mountain of loose strings. An undecipherable mess. It’s hard to fall back on a broken net.

Tony still swears up and down that all The Avengers are clean. It’s what Nat said too. Steve believes them, and he’s both concerned and relieved about it.  Although his heart is weary of another betrayal, he knows he would sooner fall on his own sword for anyone on the team—affiliated with evil or not.

///

 “Avengers!” Fury addresses, standing from his seat at the head of the briefing room table. “All hands on deck for this evening.”

Tony perks in his seat. “A group op?”

“It’s been a while,” Sam muses, glancing at Thor—the only one who is consistently unaffected by the early hour briefings—Who is beaming back at him.

Natasha slumps against Clint. They’re sharing a coffee.

“Take out your Armani and McQueen ladies and boys, the mayor of New York City is hosting a fundraiser gala tonight.”

“Are you serious? We’re doing a security sweep? It’s like the American movies!” Wanda exclaims with a laugh.

“Not quite,” Fury corrects, “The mayor has been receiving death threats by an anonymous local group of novice criminals. It wouldn’t be a concern if it weren’t for the breach we’ve had in last night’s systems. Several of Stark’s weapons were stolen from our covert warehouse in Soho.”

“Wait, what?” Tony says nearly spitting out his coffee, “Why wasn’t I alerted? JARVIS!”

“You do not have me monitoring that building sir,” The AI responds, “I have audio archived that you’ve said quote unquote ‘anything I don’t have at headquarters or in my house is junk.’”

“Dangerous junk!” Tony objects, “To ordinary peasants!”

Steve rolls his eyes, “Civilians aren’t _peasants_.”

“Semantics.”

“—Anyways,” Fury continues, “the mayor could not be persuaded to postpone, therefore tightened security measures must be emplaced. The gala is a public event at a large venue and our suspects are unidentified, we will need the whole team—Including agent Barnes—present and on active watch. The gala should be reasonably easy to get into so aliases are unnecessary.”

Jane furrows her brow in confusion, “But why do you need us?" She asks, gesturing to herself and Bruce, "Can't this job be handled by the field agents…?”

“We need the two of you to neutralize any hazardous or ill-used weapons. Stark will be more agent than consultant in this mission since he would be best equipped to handle his stolen technology.”

“Also, the mayor already invited me.” Tony says, smirking as he twirls in his office chair.

“Yes Stark, I’d suggest you RSVP and bring Miss Potts with you. The more couples there are, the more inconspicuous you’ll be.” Fury glances to his right where Agent Hill is recording minutes, “Anything to add?” Fury asks her.

“You are not to engage if no threats occur. We need to prevent making a scene to preserve our anonymity, a party like this will be swarming with the press," she advises them, although the message was clearly meant for Tony. The world knows him as an impulsive billionaire engineering genius and inheritor of Stark Industries. Not a secret agent of an intelligence agency whose father was a founding member. Howard Stark individually financed SHIELD with his weapons manufacturing fortune decades ago. "That being said," She continues, "it's a swanky affair so be diligent—but have some fun!” 

“Will you be joining us?” Sam asks her politely, and Steve masks his snicker with a cough, he’s been trying to smooth talk Maria for far too long, to no avail.

 “Someone needs to stay here,” she replies curtly. Steve shoots Sam a sympathetic look. 

Director Fury dismisses the team, promising to brief them further should more information arise before that evening.

Steve stays behind, hovering behind Director Fury until he turns around. “Have a question, Captain?”

Steve takes a step back and hesitates. “I was just wondering…”

“Why I enlisted Bucky for tonight?” Fury finishes his sentence, “He needs to get out more. You’re all friends with him. Thought it would help him socialize.”

Steve frowns. “But Bucky isn’t an Avenger.”

“Yes, I’ve been meaning to have that discussion with you. We’re thinking of making him one.” Fury says, walking out of the briefing room and motioning for Steve to follow him down the hall.

The words hit Steve like a punch to the stomach. He stops in his steps, eyes widening for a moment before he quickens his pace to catch up to Fury. Fury glances over his shoulder.  
“Unless you have any objections—”

“No!” Steve interrupts a little too quickly. “—Well. I just…Why?”

“Why not? He’s extremely versatile, his arm is dynamic and he works well with the team.”

“Yes but—”

“I thought you _liked_ working with Barnes.”

Steve lets out a frustrated groan. “No I do! I just—”

Fury lowers his voice and levels with Steve. “If you’re uncomfortable with it Rogers, you need to be honest with me. This is _your_ team now, you’re the one with the final say. Don’t make me unhappy by making me jumps through all these hoops to legally let this happen just to disapprove down the line.”

Steve open his mouth to argue. Nothing comes out. Something doesn’t sit right at the thought of Bucky joining the Avengers and he doesn’t know how to express those feelings into words. Why would Director Fury want Bucky recruited? He already was an agent, promoting him wouldn’t give him a higher status—It would put him in more danger. It could hurt him. The Avengers take on the most complicated, riskiest operations. It’s why the team is so carefully handpicked. Hasn’t Bucky had gone through enough? He couldn’t possibly imagine Bucky agreeing to this.

It didn't matter either way. Steve has to decide for him. It's on his shoulders now. 

Fury takes his silence as consent, and goes off to retire elsewhere. His protectiveness of Bucky is absurd. He has no right, no ownership of Bucky. He’s allowed to make his own choices. The thought, as thrilling as it might be to work with Bucky everyday is also terrifying. He doesn’t want Bucky to be anymore involved with danger than he already has to be. This feeling he has, it burns within him, strong and turbulent, making his throat dry and his head pound.

 _You care about him_ , his mind finally supplies. 

The thought paralyses him.

Wanda appears after what felt like…Seconds, minutes? How long has he been standing there in the hallway?

“Steve?” Wanda’s warm voice pulls him out of his stupor. “I’ve been looking for you…” She stops and fiddles with her necklace before looking up at him, taking in his stricken expression.

“Steve? Are you okay?”

Steve blinks, and glances down to a fretting Wanda. He puts his hand to her shoulder.

“I’m fine,” he says. “What’s up?”

She flushes timidly, “I just wanted your advice on what to wear tonight. I’m not very often invited to parties. Especially fancy ones. Formal wear can be difficult to work in.”

Steve wraps his arm around her, guiding her down the hall. He’s very fond of Wanda. They both share similar loss. His paternal side comes out with her, and he finds himself treating her the way he thinks he would if Felicity were a young adult. “Let’s go find Nat, she’s got a few tricks up her sleeve, I’m sure…

 ///

 Maria was right. The venue was downright _swanky_. 

Bucky and Steve are the last to arrive.

The smooth, sultry melody of a saxophone greets them as they make an entrance into the ballroom, as locally famous politicians mill around complimenting their wine glass clinking with the noise of their chatter. 

It amused Steve to think that if only the amount of money that was put into charity events went _to_ the charities, there might not be need for any. 

They walk over to their respective station. Bucky and Steve were assigned to the open bar, much to Tony’s dismay. They talk and mingle a bit, never sitting rooted in one spot for too long nor wandering off too far. They’re both dressed in suits, weapons and gadgets carefully hidden.

Felicity is still at the daycare. Due to many overnight and long distance operations, S.H.I.E.L.D. daycare accommodates to the hectic work schedules of agents and is open twenty-four hours. Steve hates leaving Felicity there overnight despite the qualifications of the staff. Most of the time he can find one of the Avengers off for the night and leaves her with them. That couldn’t work due to tonight’s circumstances, everyone is out.

Steve can see Rhodey and Tony with Pepper on his arm chatting with other socialites from across the room. Pepper turns to him and waves. She’s wearing a flaring green dress, and is beaming with a flask of Champagne. It makes his heart yearn for Peggy, but he’s quick to push those thoughts. Those are his _friends_. What’s more pathetic than envying over their happiness?

He turns to Bucky, who’s nursing a glass of water.

“See anything?” he asks.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “This is hella boring. I think I’m starting to root for the bad guys just to see something happen.”

Steve frowns at him and nudges his shoulder. “Hey. You should go find some girl to dance with. Don’t feel like you have to stay here stuck with me just because I’m the widower. Look, Wanda is over by the door all alone. She’s young, yeah, but she could use company.”

“I don’t really know her.”

“She’s really sweet,” Steve continues.

“I'm sure she is, but I'd rather not.”

“ _Okay_ , well then why don’t you find someone more your style?”

“Steve—I don’t mind sitting with you. Besides, I don’t want to get distracted.”

Steve is pretty sure Bucky is just being polite. They’re at this big fancy fundraiser. There’s beautiful wealthy people milling all around. Sure, they have a job, but without names and faces there’s nothing they can do but stand guard until something happens. Bucky should have a little fun, he deserves it.

Steve nods discreetly towards a woman in a blue cocktail dress.

“What about her?”

“No,” Bucky says flatly.

Steve suddenly feels stupid. What if this was a body-image issue? Bucky was wearing black silk glove over his hands. You couldn’t tell his left one wasn’t flesh. What right did Steve have to force Bucky into something that could potentially expose a part of himself he wasn’t ready to share with some girl?

“Is this because of your arm?” He whispers, “I’m sorry—I didn’t think of that.”

“It’s not the arm,” Bucky says, clearly unamused, leaning his elbows against the bar with his head between his hands.

 Then a little push couldn’t hurt him, Steve muses. Director Fury wanted him to socialize, right?

Steve points to her blonde friend sipping a martini next to her.

“No.”

“You’re not even looking at her!”

“Fine,” Bucky grits between his teeth, pivoting around on his stool. “I’m looking.”

A petite girl trips in her heels and reminds Steve of Jane's friend Darcy. 

“Her?”

“ _No,_ " Bucky says again, exasperated.

“ _Bucky_ _c’mon_ , I’m trying to help you. It’s just a dance, not a one-night stand. What about—”

“Can you just stop?” Bucky snaps loudly, slamming his glass down on the bar with his left arm, causing it to shatter.

Steve blinks, as he and every other socialite at the bar jump at his outburst.

 Bucky mumbles an apology over and over, pulling his suit jacket sleeve over his wet glove as the bartender hands over a dishrag.

“I’ll put that on your tab, sir.”

“Put it on mine.” Steve interjects.

“—What? No. Stop—Just. I’ll pay for it, it’s my fault.” Bucky says grimly.

Steve turns to the bartender, “No, I provoked him, I’ll pay.”

The bartender looks at each of them before nodding and thrusting a broom and dustpan at Steve. “Since you’re so adamant and all.”

He complies and begins to sweep, kneeling in his suit jacket, head bent downwards and focused. When he glances up, a moment later, Bucky’s eyes are flitting around the room and he’s fidgeting nervously.

Steve bristles, “What is it?”

“Get up. That’s enough, just—Get up already, okay? People are staring.” He says, pulling him up roughly.

“You can go join one of the others. I didn’t realize I was _boring_ you.”

Steve’s eyes soften. “ _Bucky, no._ I’m sorry, I was being—I don’t know. Stupid. Sorry.”

Bucky keeps his body ridged, outwardly facing the ballroom. Only his eyes flickered to the right. Steve takes what he gets.

“And you know—For the record. I’m gay.”                            

“Oh,” Steve says, cheeks reddening. _Oh_. “I uh—I didn’t know that.” 

"You're right," Bucky says, voice sounding a little strange, "you didn't." 

“We can talk about it, if you want?" 

“Thank you, but. Um—No thanks.”

There’s something about the way Bucky says this that makes him sad. Reminds him of why he’s like this in the first place. The amount of people he trusts is so few. Steve thought he was one of them. He thought they were close enough for Bucky to have felt like he could share this with him. But that's not fair, is it? Steve never—He hasn't—Bucky doesn't know about him either. 

This would be the perfect time to do it. Bucky gave him an opening to make an apology, an admission. Not a confession. Steve's bisexuality was never a secret. It a part of who he is. He's never been ashamed of it, Peggy never changed that. 

"Buck," he says, then looks at him in his perfectly tailored suit and pulled back hair and gloves and _shit._  The words get stuck in his throat.

And then, there’s this issue. The one that’s making him feel lightheaded. The one that’s got his palms damp, and face flushed. The issue that shouldn’t even be an issue because it’s not like it’s a problem. Yet still, undeniably a very real _issue_.

He needs to get out of here. He needs fresh air. He can’t think straight.

(And oh, isn’t that _ironic?)_

“I’m going to step out for a moment, call the daycare and check up on my daughter. Let me know if anything occurs at all and I’ll be back in a heartbeat.”

Bucky gives him a sidelong glance.

 _He’s on to me_ , Steve fears, his heart sinking into his gut.

“Tell her I said hi,” Is all he says back. Steve gets up on shaky feet and leaves his designated post.

He brushes past several gossiping ladies, willing his heart to slow down as he turns a corner that leads him to a quiet exterior hall. There is an unlocked room with an open balcony overlooking the city. He fingers the soft fabric of the flapping curtains, and looks out at the New York City skyline. He sinks to the concrete ground, pulls his knees to his chest and fiddles with his phone.

He wasn’t actually going to call the daycare.

What he wants is Peggy’s soothing voice to calm him.

But she’s not here anymore.

This situation wouldn’t even be happening if she was because the only reason Steve would ever be feeling remotely like _this_ would be because of _her_.

And that’s the root of this “issue”, isn’t it?

He thinks of when he saw Pepper with Tony. Jane with Thor. Natasha with Clint. All happy. All together. It brought an ache as it always has since Peggy’s death.

Just an ache.

From what used to be a heart wrenching pang to his heart, so strong he went out of his way to avoid watching his friends’ relationships, was now only a subdued ache.

An ache that felt different from all the previous ones.

He’s healing.

Isn’t this what he wanted?

He finds himself listening to his phone’s dial tone before he noticed what he was doing. The receptionist patches him through to Felicity’s worker, who dutifully tells him she has been a delight. He remains silent, and the woman observant and intelligent as she is picks up on Steve’s melancholy and offered to put Felicity on the phone. He gives her his thanks and listens to the sounds of the city until his baby girl’s voice rings clear through the air.

“Daddy?”

“Hi Sweetheart,” He cradles the phone to his ear.

“Are you coming home now?” She asks hopefully.

“No sweetheart, Daddy needs to stay at work for a few more hours. You’re going to have to hang in there for me, alright?”

She sighs and Steve can hear the voice of the workers too. He was put on speaker phone.

“Okay.”

“There you go, my little girl.” He says, his eyes stinging.

“Tell me about your day.”

He closes his eyes as he listens to her childish rambles, the wind is getting cooler and the sun is almost done setting over the Brooklyn Bridge. He rolls his shoulder blades back and starts to relax.

 It’s not Peggy’s voice like he wished for.

It was his baby’s. 

This is why he does what he does.

This is who he fights for.

“Daddy?”

“I’m here.”

“Sad?”

Steve doesn’t know what to say. Something in him breaks to know his daughter, nearly four could be so observant. So smart. So dear to his heart.

“A little, baby.” He admits, “You’re making me feel better already.”

“Okay. Love you.”

 “And I love you. Oh! Bucky said to say hi.”

“Bucky!” She exclaims, a happy trill.

“Yeah, sweetie. Daddy has to go now okay? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Okay Daddy.”

The daycare worker takes the phone back and tells Steve to have a good night before hanging up.

He sits there, outside far away where he should be with a clearer mind and a lighter heart.

It wasn’t Peggy. It was Felicity.

The little part of her he has left. All, he realizes, he really needs. 

///

As Steve makes his way back to the bar, he passes by the cleared ballroom where Natasha grabs onto his arm.

“Where were you?” She asks into his ear, wrapping her arms around his neck, bringing him into a dance. “Did you see anything? Anyone?”

He shakes his head. “No, I just needed a breather.” He wraps his hands around her waist consciously, keeping his grip loose. She takes his hands and tightens them around her.

“You never take breaks on missions. Something’s wrong. What happened? Are we being watched?”

They’re swaying together. Pressed up against each other. Natasha’s heart is thumping against his chest, accelerating in pace as she gets defensive, prepared for some potential threat. Steve hasn’t been this close to a woman since…

He pulls away from her embrace.

“No. I—I really needed to go out.”

She stares at him. Deciding whether or not to buy his story. Ultimately, she grabs Steve’s hand and drags him away from the dance floor and back into the exterior hall from where Steve came out from.

“What happened?” She repeats, and her tone is quick and urgent while still impossibly affectionate.

Steve untangles their fingers and uses his hand to run through his hair.

“Did you know that Director Fury and Agent Hill are planning to make Bucky an Avenger?”  
Natasha’s eyebrows quirk. “No.”

“You didn’t?” He asks, shocked. He assumed Natasha knew just about everything.

“No, though I don’t find it surprising.”

“Don’t you think it’s a bad idea?”

“Isn’t it up to you? Peggy was the one to approve the twins' placements. Everyone else too, come to think of it.”

“I know,” He says, “It is.”

She watches Steve again, and it makes him feel uneasy. He regrets telling her.

“Then why are you asking _me?_ ”

Steve drops his volume even lower, “Can’t you just tell me what I should do?”

 “You’ve never needed help making decisions. I’m sure you can figure this on your own. Personally, I think it’s Barnes’s decision to make.” She answers carefully, sounding more like a mother than a friend. “Offer him the position and let him have the choice.”

“I can’t do that!  He’s going to say yes, and you know it! He’s going to say yes and then hurt himself.” He snaps.

“Everyone in this profession risks their lives, Steve. It’s their choice. We all get hurt. You can’t control that.”

Steve wraps his arms around himself. “I know, it’s just…”

“You care about him.” She says, when the words die on his tongue.

He nods his head once.

“You care about me. I’m doing twice as dangerous stunts on a daily basis.” She points out.

“You can handle your own.” He replies, and she smirks, pleased for a moment, before hitting the nail on the head.

“Bucky can’t, then?’

Steve groans.

“It’s not the same!” He insists. “How do you feel when Clint’s life is on the line?” He looks around, “Where is he, anyways?”

She points to the vents.

“Ah.”

“Clint’s life is ‘on the line’ everyday. I would be a horrible agent if I couldn’t manage my personal feelings for him while at work. We have a mutual understanding. There might be a day where one of us doesn’t come home. That doesn’t mean we prevent each other from doing our jobs. You do realize he’s my…Person. Right? You aren’t with Bucky.”

Steve doesn’t reply.

The long unspoken reaction of Steve’s drops the mood in the deserted hallway dramatically. Steve suddenly feels a draft from the corridor and wonders if it was always this _cold_. 

It becomes apparent that this is no longer a simple talk. Natasha is a spy. Possibly the best spy in the world. Spreading and retrieving information comes as easy to her as breathing. The way she manipulates people. It's her second nature. Steve knew her, studied her, copied her sometimes on the job and still he's not immune to her work. She's pulling the words out of his mouth before they're even there and for one invasive moment, it's almost like she's in his mind and he hates it. Her eyes widen when she puts it all together and Natasha _knows_. _She knows she knows_ and how is that possible when Steve doesn’t even know or, at least, he thinks he does maybe. That ache. _It wasn’t grief_. The idea is there, swimming, swirling in the back of his mind but he keeps shoving it back down because now’s not the time. Not now, not ever if he could help it.

How could he...?

The burning sensation of betrayal at just the thought. It’s not even really there, Natasha is jumping to conclusions, she doesn’t _know_ anything there’s _nothing_ to know.

But what if…?

 _No_. Steve cuts off his own thoughts, but it’s too late to mask his feelings plainly shown on his face. The terror in his eyes are evident and the miscommunication that lingered throughout this entire conversation is brought to the forefront in a single silent minute as Steve shifted his weight from his right to his left. And all it took was nothing at all.

She frowns slightly. “Do you _want_ to be with Bucky?”

Steve rolls his eyes scornfully and walks away from her. He goes down the hall, and excuses himself as he accidentally bumps into a middle aged woman. So damn disoriented, so shaken he can’t even walk straight without messing up.

He comes back where Natasha is waiting three minutes later, shoulders slumped, defeated.

“I just wanted to come out to him.” 

She shrugs. “Then come out.”

“I…I Can’t. Something's blocking me from revealing it to him. I think it means something,” he swallows harshly, "If I do. It's not something I'm ready for."

She takes his hand. "What would it mean?” It wasn’t a real question, so he doesn't answer. 

“You know he’s not straight either?”

Steve’s brows twitch up, and he can't help feeling annoyed. “He _told_ you?” 

“Not in so many words, it wasn’t hard to figure out.”

“Oh.”

“What are you going to do?”

He thinks of The Avengers proposal and then he thinks of Bucky, refusing to go dance in favour of staying with him at the bar. 

He's not ready for any of this.

Steve levels his gaze with hers, “I don’t know,” He replies honestly. “We should go back.”

She loosens her grip as he breaks away and falls back into his stoic façade and detachedness as all of his anxiety is buried deep down under like a blanket of sparkling snow over a town of ghosts.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! I hope everyone had a relaxing and stress-free (hey, we can all have dreams) holidays and wishing you all a happy New Year!
> 
> This chapter is a little on the short side but more is soon to come! :)

 When Steve gets a glimpse of Bucky through the thickening crowd of the ballroom, still seated on the bar stool he was in when he left, he makes a beeline towards him. His hair is out now, he must have taken out the elastic holding it in place. It's still meticulously tamed to frame his face behind his ears. It makes him stand out. In a good way.

“Was Felicity alright?” Bucky asks, voice laced with concern once he gets to him. He signals the bartender for two more sodas.

“Hmm? Yeah she’s fine.”

A screech fills the air as someone taps on a microphone across the room on the speaking stage. They both flinch. A young lady announces that the mayor will soon make a speech to thank the guests for their generous donations.

Their coms come to life as Tony alerts everyone to be vigilant, as the easiest attack for a novice would be an obvious one. When the target is singled out alone.

“Can I ask you something?” Steve says once the static responses in his ears dies down.

“Sure.”

“Are you ex-military?”

Bucky lets out a harsh breath through his nose and has to retreat his metal arm to behind his back to prevent another glass crushing incident.  

“You sure like to hit the nail on my sensitive topics.”

Steve’s eyes flit to the couple flirting further down the bar. He slides his glass away. He sees an attractive man dressed impeccably hovering by the musician stand and frowns. He was there ten minutes ago and hasn’t seemed to move. Slightly suspicious, but then again he might just be waiting for someone. Or socially awkward. Bucky follows his gaze at the man and scowls, kicking his perfectly waxed shoes against his bar stool.

 Steve turns back to Bucky, forgetting completely about the man, and shrugs lightly.

 “I was,” Steve supplies, "I um, was a Captain in special forces before I was recruited by SHIELD. You remind me sometimes of the guys I used to work with. We used to call ourselves the Howling Commandos."

Steve doesn't know why he's suddenly rambling. He feels like there's empty space he needs to fill up with Bucky's lack of response. He knows, of course, that Bucky is ex-military. It was in Bucky's file that Fury gave him. But he wants Bucky to tell him. He wants to talk about something real. Something private. Something you'd share with someone you'd trust. 

The mayor walks up the stairs to the stage. He’s smiling, shaking hands. Completely at ease. He’s either a very selfless man or an idiot.

“I was, but I don’t really feel comfortable talking about my time there right now.” Bucky admits, as he signals the bartender for another coke. He's met with a very pointed stare once he’s looked up from slurping half of it down.

“What?” He asks, defensively.

“That's your 5th coke. Do you have an addiction or something?"

Bucky laughs, which pulls a relieved smile out of Steve. "I could be addicted to nicotene or alcohol, and you're going to rag on me about my soda intake?"

"You're forgetting I'm a dad. That shit ain't healthy."

“Thanks. For giving me time. I promise, I’ll tell you about it someday.”

“Of course, I’d never want to pressure you into saying anything. That’s a whole part of your freedom, y'know? Exercising your right to privacy. All you have to do is remind me.”

“Steve…” Bucky murmurs, shaking his head a little and looking away. “You are something else. I—” Suddenly, his eyes grow alarmingly wide, “—GRENADE!”

“What?”

The words are still falling from Steve’s lips as Bucky pushes him over the counter and away from the blast. Across the room Natasha has ripped off the skirt of her gown, revealing a makeshift cat suit with a matching utility belt.

Clint comes in dangling from the ceiling. “Everybody out!” He yells over the screams of the crowd, pointing to the emergency exit.

“Anybody down?” Natasha shouts into her coms, helping a woman grab her purse, “Clint has eyes on the suspect. A thirty-something year old male. Caucasian. He’s wearing a gray suit. Heading to the east-side exit staircase. I need him trailed.”

Sam and Wanda’s responses crackle through Bucky’s earpiece. He turns to Steve, who is still on his side, catching his breath, unscratched.

“Get up,” Bucky says, twisting the shifts of his metal arm, hauling him back over the bar counter, “We need to get out of here.”

“Are _you_ okay?” Steve asks in a voice that has Bucky’s heart leaping much more than the jump scare did.

“Just dandy,” He promises, maneuvering around the shards of glass.

Bucky rushes to the couple who were at the bar beside them as Steve gives directions through the coms to the team. The woman is fine but her partner has a head wound from crashing into the counter.

Bucky yanks off his gloves to pull out gauze from one of his hidden compartments and hands it to the man. He stares up at him with petrified eyes and it takes the woman’s shrill shrieks and points to understand why. She’s blocking him with her body. He could easily push her aside.

He doesn’t.

“I’m not going to hurt you,” He says patiently, his voice an impossible mix of rough and soothing. “This is my prosthesis. Not a weapon, I swear. Just let me stop his bleeding until medics arrive.”

Her hands shake and she takes too long to answer.

“He’s going to bleed out!” He snaps, patience wearing thin.

She relents, finally, and Bucky dresses his head and double checks that the man could walk with assistance before directing them to the exit everyone’s running to.

“Go outside and ask for Dr. Banner. He can assess him better than I can until he can go to the hospital.”

She stares at his hand.

“Go!” He grits out, wanting to shake sense into them, but he doesn’t.

They leave without a thanks. Bucky turns back to Steve who fills him in.

It was the man Steve noticed before he got distracted. Sam was trailing him, but was hesitant to confront him. He was armed with what appears to be a laser gun. Wanda’s got his other side. The suspect doesn’t seem to know he’s being followed. “Tony,” Sam calls from the balcony. “Do you know what he’s got?”

“I can’t tell from this vantage point. It could be one of my older projecting stun-guns. Or it could be another self destructing grenade like the one before. I never made anything with bullets, so don’t worry about getting shot.”

Clint, still hanging from his grappling rope, makes a better call. “That shit is glowing red Stark, what the hell have you been up to?”

“Red?” Tony frowns, “But the only thing red I’ve got—”

“FIRE!” Wanda interrupts. “His weapon spits fire. It’s blazing on the upper left side balcony. He’s got me cornered. I’m going to have to jump over.”

Clint scales the wall over to her. “I’ve got you kid.”

Sam and Tony are fighting over the coms about the logistics of using fire as a weapon as Thor calls the headquarters to dispatch an extraction unit. Jane and Pepper round up the civilians and set up a perimeter.

“Do we have eyes on the mayor?” Says Steve.

He’s greeted with static silence.

“Are you telling me _nobody_ waswatching the target?”

“I _was_ ,” Wanda replies, out of breath from her jump, “I lost him after the grenade went off.”

“Wait,” Bucky says, his first time speaking through the intercom, “The grenade went off near the musicians. That’s nowhere near the mayor’s table. This is all a diversion, there’s more than one person involved here.”

The team whines in unison.

“Alright,” Steve says, “Barton and Romanoff, go find Pepper and Jane. See if they know where they last saw the mayor.”

“Sam, can you manage up there alone?”

Sam coughs, breathing heavily. “I already got ‘em. Wasn’t quick on his feet.”

“Change of plan then,” Steve orders, “Stark, meet Sam and secure the arm. Give it to Foster. Banner where are you?”

“Tending to some mild injuries outside. Ambulances are coming.” He says.

“Everyone else, search for others. Remember we’re only responsible for retrieving the weapons and keeping the mayor safe. If we catch anyone and got the time we can do a quick questioning but otherwise hand them over to the police and jet. The extraction team will take care of everything else.”

Everyone affirms Steve’s instructions and they separate to cover the huge meeting hall.

It doesn’t take too long for Thor, Steve and Bucky to locate the mayor once desperate shouting is heard from an upper level.

He’s tied up in an office chair. The knots were weakly done, only just strong enough to restrain the man. He’s not gagged either.

Amateurs.

“Who the hell are you?” The mayor shouts at the team.

“The Avengers, sir.” Steve answers dramatically, with a smirk. “Some of earth’s mightiest heroes.”

/// 

“They were amateurs. Babies! I tell you. I can’t believe I wasted a night on those delinquent wannabes.”

Everything was back into order, the fire got put out and all arms were located.  Bucky and Tony took turns reciting the wacky tale during the debrief. It turned out the whole thing was organized by an envious business engineer named Justin Hammer and a few of his goon employees. Their plan was to use the charity to kidnap Tony in exchange for the mayor’s safety in an effort to steal all of his technology ideas and patents. It wasn’t very successful.They never expected Tony Stark, billionaire playboy philanthropist to be expertly trained in self defense and martial arts. Hammer was caught by Sam and his men were swept up by police.

It’s three o’clock in the morning. Everyone is still half dressed in half ripped, scorched gowns and suits, itching to get to their respective homes.

“You’re calling him an amateur, but he still managed to break into your so called ‘maximum security’ warehouse.” Rhodey points out. “Did anyone manage to ask how that happened?”

“Uh…No?” Steve replies.

“Glitch,” Tony sniffs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“I can ensure you sir, there is no glitch in my system.” JARVIS's voice echoes, “I strictly followed your orders not to inform you of suspicious activities regarding your abandoned belongings in Warehouse Soho sub-compartment 21-049.” If Steve didn't know better, he'd think the AI was offended. 

“You two are supposed to be my _friends_.” Tony glares at Rhodey, and points to the ceiling, where he’s assumingly addressing JARVIS.

“I ain’t nobody’s friend at three in the morning,” Rhodey grumbles, massaging his temples.

“Are we not going to talk about how my cover was blown in front of the mayor of the city?” Tony asks.

“You never had a cover,” Clint mutters under his breath. Natasha kicks him under the table.

Director Fury shushes him, “It will all be taken care of in the morning. Everyone is dismissed. And you get tomorrow off too.”

That rouses a weak cheer as they scoot their chairs back and begin to shuffle out.

“Wait, I need someone to retell what happened right before the grenade explosion. I’m missing some minutes in between 2100 and 2200 hours.” Maria says, distractedly.

“Oh, I don’t mind.” Bucky offers. He doesn’t sleep well anyways.

Steve doesn’t miss the pleased look Maria and Fury share. He’s earned his spot on the Avengers for sure. Steve wants to bang his head against the table.

 It’s been a day.

///

 It happened sooner than Steve would have liked. Director Fury called him into his office one day, a month after what was now officially called “The Warehouse Incident”, informing him that the proposal to join The Avengers would be made to Bucky within the following week, assuming Steve accords and approves by that Friday.

Steve steeled himself, biting his tongue while Fury droned on. He wasn’t anymore keen on the idea than he was a month ago and he’s certain there’s nothing that would change his mind. There’s also nothing he could say that would excuse why he’s so adamantly against it. He doesn’t like executing that kind of power anymore.

So he watches as the wheels turn, forwarding the plan into motion as he simmers silently in the corner, perplexed by his own inexplicable discontent.

 ///

It’s a sunny day and Sam’s life is swell. He’s early to work, he hasn’t had a strenuous mission in over a week and he hasn’t had to mediate or meddle in his friends’ personal lives in any extreme quantity in the last three days, which, in Sam’s books, is a _huge_ success.

Sam swings open the blatant entrance to headquarters, so cleverly disguised as Stark Tower. Which ultimately it _is_ , though it is not like the general passerby knows of SHIELD's existence. Or is allowed entry of all 170 floors. So.

Sam pushes his way through the commercial floor, sighing in relief when he enters the VIP ONLY elevator with JARVIS’s crypts so deftly encoded to recognize agents and bring them to Base. Intricately ingenious.

The autonomic doors begin to shut and Sam closes his eyes to let his morning-fogged mind relax when he is jolted out of the elevator by a strong arm.

Sam’s eyes snap open as his senses remerge with the chaos that is a downtown New York tourist attraction, and is almost hit in the face by a giant suspending _Stark Industries_ towel.

Clint’s got him by the wrist as he pulls him away from the elevator. “Hey man, I’m glad I caught you. Do you have a minute?”

“Uh.”

“Cool,” Clint replies, clearly not taking no for an answer. “I’ve got a question to ask you?”

That question in itself is suspicious. All audio within the tower excluding these few commercial floors, Tony’s penthouse and the residential stories above, are recorded. Why did Clint deliberately remove him from JARVIS's ears?

“Shoot,” Sam says resignedly, following Clint who is making a beeline to the entrance Sam just found himself walking in moments ago.

“Have you noticed anything different about Steve?”

Sam stops in his steps. Clint has an excellent poker face and Sam knew this, you need one to work in this business after all, but _damn,_  his is good because how is this not a joke?

“Sure,” Sam drawls out, waiting for the punchline.

“Like what?”

Sam gives him another odd look. “Did Stark finally make you that Life Model Decoy you wanted or were you just asleep for the past six ‘Let’s Help Cap!’ meetings?”

Clint rolls his eyes, dragging Sam out of the tower and onto the busy street. “Want some coffee? I’m buying.”

Sam frowns a little, “I was actually on my way up to HQ, and then I need to get to the VA in Bronx…”

“Starbucks then,” Clint decides, ignoring Sam’s protests and entering a Starbucks and ordering them both Hazelnut Lattes, to Sam’s dismay.

Sam strums his fingers against the tabletop as Clint brings them over and slides into the opposite booth.

“So.” Sam starts, questioning why he always allows himself to be brought into these things.

“I wasn’t talking about the _Intervention._ ” Clint replies after a long sip. “I was talking to Nat, and we think Steve has a new problem. Though it’s more personal, and maybe sensitive, probably overstepping by a jump, so not something I want to suggest in front of everyone. Yeah…So again, have you noticed anything different about him?"

“That depends on why you want to know.” Sam opens his lid and inspects the frothy foam. “I can’t give away all of his secrets, you know. What a shitty best friend I would be.”

“Has he ever expressed being romantically interested again?”

Sam chokes on his own spit.

“No!” He splutters, “Steve? Dating? Are you concussed, man? No!” He exclaims, causing two elderly ladies to glare pointedly at him. He glances up at Clint who’s got his arms folded across his chest with an amused smirk. He quirks an eyebrow at him.

“You sure?”

“A hundred fucking percent sure, dude.”

“If you say so, thanks for the chat!” Clint all but bolts out the café, abandoning his empty coffee cup and leaving a bewildered Sam in his midst.

He looks at his watch again and groans. He’s going to be late for the tenth time this month.

Sam snaps the lid back onto the cup and takes a hesitant sip.  

He needs new friends. _Normal_ friends. Non spy friends.

Non hazelnut latte with extra whip friends.

It tastes like shit.

 


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god, I know it's been long I'm so sorry! To make up for it, I made sure this chapter is extra long. I've edited this story a lot over the summer, to try to keep its style as consistent and clear as possible. I promise to try to update much quicker.

Walmart was the spawn of the devil.

Steve was sure of it, he was absolutely certain.

The lines were too long, the shelves were always disorganized, and the overhead speakers squawked every time an angry mother insisted on seeing a manager, which, frankly, Steve thought was way too many times and should mean something about the quality of their service.

This week never failed to be the worst of Steve’s year, for going on four years now. It was the week Steve had to plaster on the most fake smiles and force himself out of bed in the mornings.

It’s Sunday. Which means it’s officially the anniversary week of Peggy’s death. Which also meant, tomorrow was Felicity’s birthday.

This year, Sam and Natasha took it upon themselves to decide to throw Felicity a birthday party at Steve’s apartment. The catch was they only told Steve this morning.

He knows why they did it. He never would have agreed if he knew in advance, and now that everyone from work and her daycare was already coming, they knew Steve would never take that away from his daughter. She _deserved_ a party, for god sake.

It’s not that he doesn’t want to celebrate Felicity’s birthday. He loves her. He would always take the day off to spend with her and take her to Central Park Zoo. They made it a tradition. Sometimes Natasha would tag along if she was free and Sam would bake a cake. Last year Pepper sent Steve a giant gift card for Toys R Us. They made it a small affair, and for that Steve was thankful. He was too tired to do anything more. To be reminded that Peggy never got to share a birthday with her and then visit her tombstone at the cemetery four days later put him in a somber, sullen state of mind that was exhausting.

Some say there’s a metaphor, a beauty to be seen in birth and death occurring in the same week. Steve fails to see it.

This year’s week is going to be unnecessarily harder. Fury and Hill were going to give Bucky their Avengers proposition on Friday, following the meeting to approve the request. If Steve is going to speak up and prevent it, he’s gotta do it now. It’s been bothering him all month, the nagging feeling that Bucky becoming an Avenger would be a big mistake, but what excuse does he have other than _I have a bad feeling he’s going to die_? Fury would laugh at his face. Hell, Steve would laugh at himself at that excuse. It’s pathetic and nonsensical.  Each day this week brings something worse to Steve’s life and to hell with it if Steve’s going to let it happen without kicking and screaming.

Which he guesses is why he’s not particularly feeling chirpy. Also, he hates Walmart with a burning passion. That cannot go unnoted.

///

“So, do you think Felicity is more of a Disney Princess kind of girl or a Doctor Mcstuffins girl? We should probably get some themed balloons.”

““I don’t know Clint, she’d be happy with anything with helium in it.” Steve says tiredly, dumping a 20 pack of party hats into his shopping cart.

Clint and Natasha dragged him here after work, claiming they couldn’t let Steve sit down and not do anything to help prepare for the party. Which Steve thinks is stupid, because this wasn’t even his _idea_.

“Oh god, please. No Barbie.” Natasha shudders dramatically as she reaches for Frozen loot bags. Steve looks down at his cart. He was going for pink, not Barbie, but he supposed it was naïve of him not to remember they go hand in hand.

“Barbie is off limits but Disney Princesses are okay for you?” Steve asks, mockingly.

“Hey! Mulan is badass,” Nat argues.

“Merida is _my_ favourite.”

“Nobody asked you,” Steve mutters darkly, not even feeling sorry at Clint’s wounded expression.

“Aww, Clint. We know,” Nat says patting his shoulder condescendingly and Steve rolls his eyes.

Steve grabs the Frozen loot bags from her hands and puts them back on the shelf. “She doesn’t like Frozen.”

“Who doesn’t like Frozen?” Clint says making a face.

Steve looks up at the ceiling and sighs. “She just doesn’t Barton, go get the balloons.”

“Fine,” He grumbles, turning on his heel and stomping away.

“Why are you being mean to Clint?”

“I’m not being mean to anybody. I just want to get what we need so we can leave this place,” Steve says as he tries to turn his cart around the corner. The cart wheel locks in place when he pushes and Steve and all of his stuff jolts to a halt, while the rubber left wheel squeaks and spins on its own axis. “God, I _hate_ Walmart.”

Natasha shoots him a disgusted look, “You need to calm the fuck down,” she says, jabbing a finger to his chest. “Oh, you know what? We should do a sesame street theme! You know why?” She smiles sweetly, and Steve swallows, waiting for the bite, “So you can dress up as Oscar the grouch! You’ve already got the attitude down.” She pushes past him, purposely knocking down a row of multi-coloured _Bubble Guppies!_ plates to leave in her wake.

Steve wasn’t about to disagree with her there. He was being pissy. She’s contributing to his anger, though. He’s already tired and stressed. Now he has to clean his apartment for ten kids plus all of The Avengers to cram into his way too small apartment in less than twenty-four hours.

He picks up the party plates hastily, jamming them back into the shelf.

Sam is making the food and the cake, Natasha bought her the outfit, and now he’s doing the rest before he can pick her up from where she’s spending the evening with Wanda.

He looks at the list in his hand and crumples it, stuffing it in his pocket, deciding to just grab a bit of everything and go track down Natasha.

Nat!” He calls, and she looks over her shoulder for a fraction of a second from the Lego aisle. He parks the cart at the side and stands behind her.

“Would she prefer the Lego school bus or the police car?” She questions, without taking her eyes off the shelf.

“I’m sorry,” Steve whispers, “I’m in a mood.”

“You’re always in a mood. That’s not new.” She says pointedly to the _Lego Friends_ set.

“I’m in a very particular mood,” He corrects.

“It’s been four years, Steve.”

“Are you saying I’m not allowed to be upset anymore?” Steve asks, narrowing his eyes at her back.

“No. I’m saying you can’t be upset every birthday of your daughter’s life.”

Steve flinches. “That’s not—”

“You are.”

Whether Natasha was right or wrong this time didn’t matter. Steve was too tired to argue. Was it morally wrong to not be happy on his daughter’s birthday? Maybe. Never throwing his own daughter a birthday party might have been bad, but Steve thinks she’s taking it too seriously.

Steve and Natasha are different people. He’s watched her over the years, he knows how she deals with pain. It rolls off the her back like sweat. She doesn’t let it muddle and stew within her.

She hasn’t had the perfect life either. Ex-KGB, she was trained to be a Russian assassin since childhood. She’s never had it easy, she’s had shit happen to her, things she doesn’t speak about. She never grew up with love. She probably never even knew what it was first hand. Not until she met Clint and The Avengers. The Avengers were her family now.

“Fine,” he says.

“Do you remember why you and Peggy made me Felicity’s godmother?” She asks suddenly.

Steve stares at her. He never told her why. Peggy and Steve, they had their reasons, but they never explicitly stated them. They asked her and she agreed and that was that, but of course, things are never that simple, are they?

“I never gave you a reason,” Steve says slowly.

Natasha squares her shoulders and gives him a hard look, “Don’t be stupid, Steve. You asked, and it was both the most inappropriate and endearing thing that anyone has ever done for me.”

Steve rubs his hand behind his neck, “I—”

“You gave me a choice. Which was more than I could ever have given myself. I said yes, Steve. So screw me if I don’t take it for granted. That little girl is special. And I won’t let anyone deprive her of what she deserves. Not even you.”

She was talking about the Red Room, the program that transformed bright-eyed children into lethal weapons. Where Natasha lost more than she could ever regain. They took something from her, and it haunts her, no matter how tough as nails she is. The day after her eighteenth birthday, after her “graduation”, they strapped her to a gurney where she was drugged and handled. They stole her fertility. They took away her choice.

The first time she told Steve, she brushed it off. She said she never wanted children, so what did it matter?

But Steve sees the way she lights up when Felicity is in the room. The way she watches her, spoils her, talks to her.

It mattered.

Natasha takes her role as Felicity’s godmother with as much dedication as she did being the best student to successfully complete the Red Room.

So she’s looking out for his daughter. He understands why. And Steve should be appreciating it.

It’s just, right now, it’s stifling. They aren’t the same, he and Nat. Felicity is doing fine. And Steve’s doing just fine, too.

Or he will be. Once this week is over.

“ _Nat_ ,” He says, unsure of how to respond.

She turns around and gives him a hug.

“You’re going to get through this week. Just like you have for the past three years.” She said it with confidence, and Steve was glad she had some faith in him because he wasn’t too sure himself. He leans against her for a moment before pushing her away gently and reaching for the Lego set she’s been eyeing.

“She’d want the school bus.”

The moment is broken when Clint comes running in with two hands full of blown up helium balloons. “Guys, you’d never guess, they had Merida balloons on sale!”

Steve and Nat both groan.

  
///

“Are you excited for your birthday tomorrow?” Steve asks as he helps Felicity into her pajamas.

“I’m turning five!” She says happily, sticking her hand out.

“No, you’re turning four.”

“Five,” she states challengingly, crossing her arms and attempting to look threatening.

Steve couldn’t resist scooping her up in his arms and hanging her upside down, smiling at her peals of laughter as her hair flew all over the place.

“Okay, okay,” Steve chuckles, lifting her upright after her tenth squeal of protest, smooching a kiss onto her soft cheek. He flattens her static flyaways and fixes her crooked pajama shirt.

“There,” he says, “Tomorrow’s a big day, you’ll need to rest up.” He sits her on the bed and kneels down beside her.

“Is Uncle Sam coming?” She asks, inquisitively.

Ever since Steve told her about the birthday party tomorrow, she’s been asking questions. She spent the evening with Wanda going over party games they could play and that got her really excited about it. Seeing her enthusiasm made Steve feel better about the whole thing, especially since she’s not too bothered that they won’t end up going to the zoo like she’s used to.

“Absolutely.”

“And Uncle Thor and Auntie Jane and Auntie Nat and Uncle Clint and Uncle Tony and Dr. Bruce and Auntie Pepper and--” She’s going on one long winded breath, and Steve has to stop her before she passes out from lack of oxygen.

“Everybody’s coming, sweetheart.”

Even Bucky. How he’s going to be able to look at him without panicking about Friday is beyond him but he pushes that aside.

“And your friends from daycare,” He reminds her.

She pulls a face at that.

“Why do you do that every time I mention daycare to you?” Steve says, thinking out loud.

“I don’t like daycare.” she states, thinking she was being asked to answer.

Steve folds open her comforter and tucks her into bed.

“Why not?”

She shrugs and Steve sighs.

“Okay, sweetheart. You don’t have to like it. Goodnight, honey. I love you.” He brushes her hair out of her face again and kisses her forehead. He turns on her nightlight as she closes her eyes, and switches off the big one.

“Goodnight,” She mumbles sleepily, and Steve falls in love with his daughter a little bit more.

  
///

Steve will never thank the universe enough for his best friend. Sam must have a secret army of elves in his kitchen, because he made almost every kind of party food imaginable and they all smell so good. And then he sees the _cake_.  

“I could kiss you!” Steve exclaims when Sam opens the pastry box with the two tier cake sitting perfectly inside.

“Please don’t,” Sam jokes, setting everything down onto the plastic table cloth in the kitchen. He takes a look around at the streamers half up and party hats lined on the coffee table. Sam blanches when he gets to the helium balloons.

“What the hell are those?” He asks, affronted and glaring at the Brave balloons bobbing in the corner. “Who bought those? Wait-- Don’t tell me. Clint.”

“Did you have to ask?”

“Typical Barton.”

Steve shrugs. “He said they were on sale.”

Sam makes a disgruntled noise and shakes his head. “Nope, they don’t go with the colour scheme, so they’re going on the balcony.” He wrestles to push the ten balloons outside through the screen door. “Now she can literally ride the wind and touch the sky, Merida couldn’t be happier.”

Sam dusts off invisible dirt from his jeans and says, “So, you have _real_ balloons you need to blow up?”

Steve points to the package and watches as Sam pulls out a gigantic helium pump from his bag and gets to work.

Steve hides his smile as he sees Sam finish what Steve started with the party decorations. Sam should have been an interior designer or a party planner if he decided the secret agent life wasn’t cutting out for him anymore, because he was in his element, dancing along to the Marvin Gaye playlist from Spotify and making Steve’s apartment look more lively than a circus.

Eventually, Felicity emerges, walking into the living room in her pretty purple sundress, inevitably bored with her stuffed animals she was previously playing with in her room and breaks into a run when she sees Sam.

Sam scoops her up into a hug as she rests her cheek onto his shoulder, mumbling a thank you for his birthday wish and Steve gets a warm feeling in his chest watching his daughter be so happy.

Maybe a party wouldn’t be so bad after all.

  
///

Steve suspects he was too optimistic about that last statement.

Because ten toddlers _plus_ The Avengers in his cramped apartment? What were Nat and Sam thinking?!?

 _It’s_ _Chaos._

Unsurprisingly, Felicity was unattached to all of her classmates, and was spending her time chatting animatedly with the adults and—Unexpectedly—Kate Bishop.

Kate Bishop was Clint’s niece, a young college student studying criminal justice at NYU. Steve stood shocked when his daughter waved excitedly at her. Kate bent down to give her a spirited high five after walking in with Clint and Nat and Steve honestly thought he was hallucinating.

Clint pulled Steve to the side and explained that Kate actually knew Felicity from volunteering at the SHIELD daycare. She _badly_ wanted to be recruited and was willing to do anything to stick her foot in the door. Once Kate heard of where Clint was going she insisted on tagging along.

She shook Steve’s hand politely when Clint introduced her to him while Steve assessed her silently.

Kate Bishop was an interesting girl.

With her steely blue eyes and long black hair, she was gorgeous, and had a keen eye for observation. Still, she managed to pull off a young and awkward vibe as flawlessly as beautiful and skilled, and for that Steve liked her.

“I got her a 500 crayon set, to go with Uncle Clint’s craft table. It’s the same set we’d use at the daycare,” she explains hastily when Felicity tackles her legs after opening her gift.

“Thank you, Kate. That’s very thoughtful.”

Kate pulls her hair back into a ponytail, preening in a way that finally gives away that she is indeed related to a Barton.

He watched his daughter as she settled into her brand new craft table with Kate, who waved at other children who took the moment to recognize her when the doorbell rang.

Immediately, Steve knew who it was. There was only one couple within their group of friends who strives to be fashionably late.

Tony Stark slides his sunglasses up onto his forehead as he announces, “I’m here and I brought booze, the party can start now,” very loudly as Pepper bestows the biggest gift box Steve has ever seen to Jane. Tony strolls into the kitchen and places many expensive beer bottles onto the counter.

“Uh,” Sam says ineloquently.

“Tony, this is a party for _four year olds_.”

Tony claps Steve on the back. “I know. That’s why I said I brought the booze,” he quips, moving on.

Sam shoots Steve a harried look as he grabs all the bottles and shoves them into the pantry.  Pepper rolls her eyes fondly and apologizes for Tony as she toes off her heels and presses a kiss to his cheek.

Bucky walks into the kitchen then, side eyeing Stark as they pass by each other. “Did he just bring his weight in alcohol to a kid’s party?” He asks incredulously.

“Yes,” says both Steve and Sam.

“Jesus,” Bucky mutters, and leans against the stove, popping a pretzel into his mouth.

Bucky looks fantastic, wearing a long sleeved grey Henley that’s hiding his left arm with snug light wash denim jeans. His hair is in a small ponytail with some stray strands in the front that he keeps pushing back and it’s incredibly distracting. Not that Steve was noticing how Bucky looked. But some of the SHIELD mothers dropping off their children were “not noticing” as well, with too long glances and once overs that made Steve’s eyes narrow when he asked Bucky to answer the door for a while.

 Bucky nods over to Felicity with Kate. “She seems to be enjoying herself now that Barton’s niece is here,” he says.

“Yeah,” Steve agreed.

“What about the other kids? They seem to be ignoring her and she’s ignoring them too. That’s weird.” Sam points out.

Steve fidgets with the napkins and frowns, casting a worried glance at the rambunctious children playing a make believe game with Thor.  “I know.”

“You don’t think kids are bullying her, do you?” asks Bucky.

“No. I don’t know why she’s not sociable. I think it’s just how I raised her. I was attached to her and she was attached to me. I should have made a stronger effort to encourage her to make friends.”

Sam clucks his tongue disapprovingly.

“It’s not that implausible,” Steve argues, “I’m busy all the time and I’m the only person she’s constantly influenced by and my social skills are pretty lacklustre as well.”

Bucky shakes his head at Steve. “Take it from someone who’s had _no_ social contact in five years. I really disagree. I think you’re fine.”

That was nice of him to say, but Bucky didn’t know how different he used to be. He looks dubiously at Sam, who for sure would have something to say about Steve’s lack of social life, but he was already gone.

 “Really?”

“Yeah,” Bucky says with an easy smile, “I think you’re a great parent. Look at her. She’s so well behaved and she loves you. That’s the best you can ask for.”

 Steve feels his cheeks tinge and turns away. “Thanks Bucky,” he mumbles, then excuses himself before he could be any more embarrassing.

 

Natasha takes Steve’s place in the kitchen and snaps a party hat onto Bucky’s head.

“You’re giving Steve heart eyes from across the room,” she murmurs in Russian, elbowing him sharply.

“No, I’m not.” Bucky says, stuffing another handful of pretzels into his mouth.

“What did I tell you about confusing him?”

“I’m not!” He exclaims indignantly, around his mouth full, rolling his eyes.

“Get your act together Barnes,” She warns in English this time, smacking his head before snatching a purple frosted cookie and reclaiming her seat on the couch.

 Bucky swallows roughly, feeling the pretzel slowly make way down his throat, and grimaces. Steve’s handing out cups of juice to kids, then, almost as if he can feel eyes on him, he turns towards Bucky, giving him a small smile.

_He’s not, right?_

 Steve comes back a few moments later, and they sort of just watch the party in comfortable silence.

“I can’t believe she’s four,” Steve sighs, running a hand through his hair.

“I feel like she was my little baby only a few days ago. The time goes by so fast.”

Bucky nods his head, though finds it hard to agree. He picks at his glove covering the cybernetic hand. It’s hot but he didn’t want kids to be frightened by it.

To Bucky, these past four years had been torturous. Literally. Time has never moved so slow. There were days he thought he’d never make it out alive. Sometimes he even hoped it. The day they got him to break... He was in so much pain every _second_ felt glacial. But it really was only a day, wasn’t it? The names, the places, the intel he traded for relief. That altered everything in Steve’s life. Bucky will never be able to forget.

Time is a funny thing.

Bucky bit his tongue from saying,

_Maybe it works different when you have someone to take care of. When you’re not locked in a cell._

“I have Felicity’s gift,” Bucky says, instead, quietly. “Can I give it to her?”

Steve cocks his head in mild interest and tells him to go ahead. Bucky taps Kate on the shoulder and asks her if he could take her place at the craft table. She lets him, getting up to stretch, and ruffles Felicity’s hair before finding the food table.

 

Steve tried not to hover over them, but he was far too curious about what Bucky’s gift was. Bucky places a small wrapped box onto the table and tells her to open it.  

Felicity looks up at Steve, asking silent permission and Steve just smiles and gives her an encouraging gesture.

Inside the box was a small fine gold chain with a plated pendant that says her name in beautiful calligraphy.

“It’s a necklace with your name on it,” Bucky tells her, unsure if she could read, “that way everyone will know who you are.”

Felicity stares at it in awe, and Steve chides her gently, “What do you say, sweetheart?”

“Thank you!”  

“Do you want to wear it?” Bucky offers. She nods, climbing over to his side so that he could clasp it around her neck. She looks down and fiddles with it.

“Pretty!” she comments with an adorable grin.

“ _So_ pretty,” Steve says as she shows it off, “just like you.” He bends down to kiss her forehead, then pushes her towards the kids, “Why don’t you show it to your friends from daycare?”

Felicity scrunches up her face in distaste. Steve rolls his eyes at Bucky and whispers, “It was worth a try.” Bucky shrugs and Steve turns back to his daughter and says, “Okay, then go to Auntie Nat, she’ll play with you.”

The two watch her as she scampers over to sit on Natasha’s lap.

“Bucky, that was too much,” Steve hisses once she’s out of earshot.

Bucky waves his hand at him, “Nah, I have more money than what I know to do with it and that kid’s amazing.”

“A _gold_ necklace?” Steve says, his voice raising pitch.

“Did you _see_ what Stark bought her? If you’re worried about spoiling her I’m afraid it’s too late, buddy.”

Steve chuckles at Bucky’s joke, “I guess you’re right. Thank you. The gift really is beautiful, Buck.”

“Don’t mention it,” Bucky says, face flushing at the new nickname and unfolding himself from the kids’ table.

“So how’ve you been?” Steve asks, trying to keep conversation. “Those sleeping pills been working for you?”

“Sort of,” Bucky says. “What about you? Have you found anything about Rumlow?”

Steve knew Bucky would ask one of these days. At least he didn’t have to lie about not finding anything.

“No,” he says and it makes Bucky twitch. “Sorry, we’re trying, though.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky says.

Really. They had nothing.

It wasn’t even one of Steve’s concerns right now, not with his upcoming meeting with Fury, Hill and other big names to discuss the future of Bucky’s placement on Friday. He wished he could tell him about it, gauge his reaction to help him decide whether or not to intervene, but that risked getting his hopes up, and preferably, Steve would rather not have to talk about Friday at all. If Steve had his way, he’d be spending the day at the cemetery. Morbid as that may sound, he just needed to see her before he could really let go.

Because.

The thing is.

Bucky has pretty eyes.

Steve knew that before. He noticed it when Fury slid his file across the table and Bucky’s SHIELD ID picture had his bright eyes stare right up at him. That was before he knew what happened. When he saw the face of a victim and heard the horrors of his capture and thought _He has such nice eyes_ . Even after, with the candid shots of Bucky’s mutilation and the series of photographs recording the trial process of the Stark arm, he looked rougher, darker, and his eyes were dulled. And _still_ , Steve thought begrudgingly, even when he wanted to hate him, _it was unfair they were so pretty._

Those eyes followed him now, gave him rapt attention as they talked in the kitchen, and he found it distracting.

Steve thinks, possibly, maybe he wants Bucky. And _wanting_ someone? That’s new. And incredibly guilt-inducing. It felt like cheating.

But it’s not cheating. He’s no longer married.

He hasn’t been for a long time.

“I’m hot,” Bucky says offhandedly, picking at his glove. “I’m going to get more ice for my drink.”

Steve agreed, Bucky really was unjustly attractive. It startled him that the thought came so easily and kept it to himself, trying not to let on that he was panicking. Red lights were flashing and a loud alarm was going off in his head like a warning.

God help Steve, he _wants_ him.

Bucky went to get ice from the freezer when Steve glanced at his daughter out of instinct. He knew she was safe, she was _beyond_ safe, his whole team was in the same room as her, when suddenly, he hears a yelp and the hairs of his back stand up. He spins around to where the noise was coming from. In front of the fridge is Bucky, wet and glowering at a kid whose cup was now on the floor and Steve chokes out a laugh. He gets paper towels to wipe up the spill and finds the kid one of Felicity’s sippy cups to drink the rest of his apple juice from as Bucky jokes lamely, “At least I’m not hot anymore.”

Bucky walks into the bathroom to wash out the stain.

“Let me get you something to change into,” Steve says, going into his room and rummaging through his drawers for a clean long-sleeved shirt. When he comes back, the bathroom door is ajar and Bucky is bent over the sink, shirtless. Steve’s mouth goes dry as he takes him in. The red raised scars from his file photo are in full view here and Steve isn’t any less turned on from seeing them.

In fact, he’s never been more turned on.

He’s beautiful.  He’s been around Bucky in his tight tact suit almost everyday, it didn’t leave too much to the imagination. But Steve’s eyes weren’t this open before. He must have been blind.

Bucky is beautiful and exposed in his bathroom.

And Steve _wants_ him.

Steve flushes seven shades of red as he thrusts the new long-sleeved tee through the crack of the door and Bucky looks up at him.

“Thanks,” Bucky mumbles, and that should have been Steve’s cue to go but his feet are planted, stuck to the ground and his eyes won’t quit staring.

“What?” Bucky says, blushing under the scrutiny of Steve’s gaze as he pulls on Steve’s shirt— _Steve’s_ _shirt_ _—_ over his shoulders. His eyes fall to his left shoulder and his mouth thins, instantly. “You’ve never seen scars before?”

Steve shakes his head vehemently, “I’m not bothered by them. _You_ shouldn’t be bothered by them. You look good.” He stammers through his explanation.

“Yeah?” Bucky asks, with a small smile.

“Of course. You look— Um. You always look good. Really.”

“Yeah?” Bucky says again, slyly this time and Steve’s eyes widen like he only just now realized what he’s implying and changes the topic quickly, sort of wanting to die.

“I can wash your shirt in my washing machine and then give it to you tomorrow.” He says, strict and monotonous, and the moment is gone.

Bucky blinks, confused at the sudden cool tone of Steve’s voice, suddenly feeling foolish and small.

“Sure, okay,” He says, watching Steve put his soiled shirt in the washing machine and walk briskly back into his room, closing the door loudly behind him.

 _“_ Oh, I am  _not_ drunk enough for this,” Tony groans as Bucky watches the door close behind Steve, and then glances down, staring at his shoes.

What the fuck just happened? Did Steve really just blurt out that he thought he was attractive _then ran away_?

He wasn’t imagining that...Right?

Bucky walks back into the dining room and stays still against the wall next to the craft table.

Clint plops down onto the bench of it and groans. “Why did I buy this it’s _tiny_.”

Bucky watches him warily.

“You’re gonna break it.”

“He’s nervous, you know,” Clint say, ignoring Bucky’s taunt.

“Why?” Bucky asks, almost annoyed.

He wasn’t shocked that Clint knew what was going on. He was Natasha’s boyfriend (Or something, Bucky was never sure). The two were a package deal.

 “He likes you.”

“Please don’t joke about that.”

Clint squints up at him through the party hat blocking his eyes. “There’s no joke. Not this time.”

“If it’s not a joke, then it’s a trick. It always is, with me.”

Clint frowns, “What do you mean?”

“Nothing,” Bucky says, feeling overcome with bitterness.

“I’m telling you. He _likes_ you. He just doesn’t know what to do about it.”

“So you keep saying,” Bucky says dryly. “You know, you and your girlfriend are giving me conflicting advice.”

Clint snorts, “Yeah? Not surprised.”

Clint taps his fingers against the plastic of the table. “If it helps, Peggy was one of the only girls he ever dated.” He leaves with that, leaving a stunned Bucky behind.

  
///

Bucky grabs his wallet and keys and there’s too much on his mind. It was one thing, knowing that it was a pipedream, a crush that would go nowhere, he was fine with that, honest, but now maybe it wasn’t so out of reach, it’s not so silly and it’s too much, it’s too dangerous. He’s thinking too fast and—

Natasha sidles up to him. “Where’re you going, Tiger?”

“ _Out_. I gotta get out before I do something stupid, I’m sorry Natasha, isn’t that what you wanted?” He shoves her arm away.

Natasha follows him to the front door. “There’s still cake to eat, you’re really going to abandon Felicity’s birthday party?”

Bucky already has one hand on the doorknob when he finally finds the voice to answer. “I already said goodbye to her. I need to leave. I can’t trust myself when he’s making it so _easy_.” He doesn’t look at her. He stares at the peephole instead.

“Maybe I was wrong.”

He scoffs, and he hates the way his eyes are wet. Hates the hope that catches in his chest. “You’re never wrong, Ната́ша.” And goes.

///

No amount of clorox will get this green stain off the counter. Steve still can’t believe that Tony thought putting on a science show would be a good idea.

There wasn’t any use being bitter about it. Steve was too busy groaning face first into his bed to supervise Stark.   

At least he left—more like dragged out by Clint, yelling about a smoke alarm, explosions and Sam having an aneurysm that Steve thought were excuses to get him to leave his room until he actually heard the _boom_ and honestly, what was Tony _thinking_ —with a clearer mind.

Steve’s _not_ ready.  

He was too stupid the first time to think he could live both a normal life and a SHIELD one. There’s too much risk. There are people with eyes on him. _Hydra_ has eyes on him. So what if it's been four years? They still managed to break into his old house and crush everything that mattered to him.

Steve can’t shake the feeling that he was supposed to die. Sitwell was flying him into a suicide mission. He’s on borrowed time. Hydra sure as hell know he's alive,  it's only a matter of time before they’ll turn in on him

Even if he found someone he wanted to be with, be it Bucky or someone other, he’d never be able to live freely again. He’d constantly be looking over his shoulder. He’d fret and worry wondering _How long is this going to last? When will Hydra show up and take it all away again? I can have this for a moment, but at what cost? When will Hydra murder you?_

Strategically, that makes him the best leader. Paranoia becomes an asset, when planning heists and planning out escapes and battle techniques. It strengthens his team when he’s already prepared for every possible outcome in every single mission that included his friends, and they applaud him for it.

But it’s an insufferable quality for a lover. Nobody deserves that. _Bucky_ doesn’t deserve that.

Which is why, Steve knows better than anyone, he’s better off alone.

There’s no use being ashamed of prepping for the worst case scenario when it already happened. And if there’s one thing that Steve learned about being an agent, about being opposite evil’s side: There is no coincidence. Especially with Hydra.

It happened once.

Somewhere a clock’s ticking, an hourglass’ sand falls, a sun sets.

And it’ll happen again.

So what’s at stake? _Bucky_?

He won’t let it be Bucky.

He can’t. He won’t.

The party was over and Bucky was gone. Natasha told him it was because he was overstimulated.

Steve pretended to believe her.

They sang happy birthday, they ate cake, Felicity opened more presents and then one by one moms showed up to reclaim their kids.

Bruce, Thor and Jane left, as well as Rhodey, Pepper and a hungover Tony. Natasha claimed she had a headache and left when Steve announced it was time to clean up regardless of the fact she doesn’t get any, and Kate had homework.

That left Sam, Clint and Wanda.

Clint wasn’t one to clean either, so it was really just Steve scrubbing the counter, Wanda doing the dishes, and Sam walking around the apartment picking up trash (that Clint’s pointing out from the couch) with a garbage bag.

Felicity fell asleep from all the attention, so they are trying to keep down their voices.

“What happened to Bucky?” Wanda asks, when she sees there’s a leftover cake slice in a container with his name on it.

Steve freezes.

“Something about being overwhelmed. It happens sometimes to PTSD victims, they can’t handle so much sociability all at once. It can feel choking to them,” Sam replies.

Steve notices Clint staring at him, and starts scrubbing again with more vigor.

“That’s unfortunate,” says Wanda, “I am growing fond of his presence. I like the way he stands in the corner and does nothing. It’s graceful.”

Sam snorts. “It’s not graceful. It’s _scary_.”

“There’s an art to stillness. He masters it beautifully.

“That’s one way of describing it.” Clint drawled.

 It only takes another half hour for the apartment to look back the way it was before Sam came over.

Once everyone was gone, he threw Bucky's shirt in the dryer, and double checked on Felicity to make sure she was properly asleep, he cracked open his kitchen cabinet and stared at the box of unopened liquor.

It was a shit day. Steve merited a drink. Not because of Felicity, or The Avengers' way of being disorderly in social settings, or Peggy. Well--Everything always had a little to do with Peggy.

It was just a shit day and Steve felt like shit and his baby was growing up too fast and his friends were crazy and Steve has never had feelings for someone else in years, and now he does and he can't have it, he can't have Bucky, of course not, it's _selfish_ and--

Before he could talk himself out of it, he's significantly drunk. Maybe even more drunk than Tony was.

Steve has to go to work the next morning but he couldn't care less. The pounding in his head dulls and makes him sleepy. For once his mind is mush enough that he doesn't have the capacity to think anymore. 

It's perfect. Maybe he should go to bed drunk on expensive gin more often. 

It's midnight, and Steve's tired, so he strips down to his tank and boxers, then falls into bed.

He blinks up at the dark ceiling dumbly wondering why he's been having trouble sleeping lately. He can't remember. It seems so easy now. He's sure if he closes his eyes he'd be gone in an instant. Doesn't that sound nice?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \--You're never wrong *Natasha*


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Would you believe me if I told you I had this chapter written a year ago? *Sweats*  
> Thank you for waiting, I'm doing my best to get the ball rolling to continue posting this!   
> Warning: There is some semi-graphic descriptions of death and blood in this chapter.

When Steve walked into the kitchen, Bucky was already flipping chocolate chip pancakes on the stove. They smelt amazing, like vanilla and everything else good homemade pancakes should have. Bucky looked over his shoulder and smiled. He gestured Steve to one of the three seats at the table, where Felicity was sitting on a phone book next to him.

“Hi Daddy!” She beamed, kicking her little legs excitedly. “Bucky is making pancakes! With Chocolate!”

Steve bent down to kiss her forehead, and had a double-take at the steaming mug of coffee already there for him.

“It’s not my birthday yet…Not to be ungrateful,” Steve said slowly, after a long sip from the mug, “But did I forget something? A birthday? An anniversary?” Steve could’ve sworn they haven’t been together _that_ long, unless Bucky was into monthly anniversaries or something.

Bucky stacked the pancakes on a plate and switched the oven off. “No,” Bucky said with a laugh. Steve’s eyes trailed over the stealth suit with a bright pink apron Felicity made for his birthday that he was wearing over it as he walked over.

“I know I said I would meet you at work but I woke up early and thought, what the hell, might as well make myself useful. That’s why you gave me a key, right?” He said as he sat down next to them, distributing the food to each, smirking at Steve’s look of awe.

This right here, was why he liked this man so much.

Steve reached across the table and grabbed Bucky’s hand.

 “Next time, just stay the night,” he said, watching as Bucky’s eyes brightened with a satisfied grin.

Bucky swallowed. “I can do that.”

“Great.”

“A sleepover?” Felicity perked, with a mouthful of pancakes. Bucky and Steve just laughed.

 

The three of them walked to the daycare. Bucky had Felicity hiked up on his hip as he went over the logistics of the operation he was going to go on with the twins. Steve nodded along, adding strategic suggestions when Bucky asked until they reached the building.

“Morning agents Rogers, agent Barnes!” The receptionist chirped despite the early hour. “I need to know who’s going to pick her up today.”

Steve and Bucky exchanged a quick glance before Bucky replied.

“I end earlier.” He points at Steve, “He’s going to be in Jersey with Agent Barton, so we’re not sure when he’ll be back.”

At that moment, the front door opened and Clint walked in pushing a stroller. “Did I hear someone say Agent Barton?” He looked down at the stroller and sighs, “You hear that buddy? They’re obsessed with me.”

“I was actually talking about your wife,” said Bucky.

The receptionist ran over to pick up the baby. “Baby Ivan! How is this beautiful boy doing today?”

“I’m fine, thank you,” Clint deadpanned, folding the stroller into the closet space and walked away muttering to himself.

“He’s not taking sleep deprivation too well, isn’t he?” Steve said to the receptionist, jabbing his elbow into the side of his snickering boyfriend.

Steve bent down to Felicity, who was suspiciously quiet in the last few minutes.

“We’re going to go now, sweetie,” He said. “Will you be okay?”

“Yep!” Felicity said confidently, then ran off to go join her friends.

Steve got up with a chuckle and reached for Bucky’s hand.

 They got to HQ together for the morning briefing before they split up, both attending their different missions.

“Promise you’ll call me,” Steve said, touching Bucky’s cheek briefly, tracing the edge of his jaw with his thumb.

Bucky kissed him, gently, softly, as their daily goodbye and it left Steve breathless every time.

“You know I always do,” Bucky murmured against his lips, flipping Natasha off at her gagging noises.  

“This isn’t _The Notebook_ , Christ sake, get in your quinjet Barnes.”

Natasha just returned from her maternity leave, and was eager to make up for her lost time.

“I’m coming,” he groused but smiled all the same.

 

What began as a promising morning ended up turning into a shitty afternoon. Natasha accidentally blew their undercover op. The Hydra sympathizers assembling where they were staking out turned out to be an actual functioning _base_ , and she wasn’t prepared to take on _that_ many agents so soon after her return and from there on it went _bad_.  Natasha almost never failed a mission. But she was human, Steve reminded himself, they can’t all be perfect all the time. Still, Steve could not help being cross. They made it out fine, just barely, but fine. That didn’t matter to Steve though. The thought of barely making it out was terrible. He called Bucky the moment he got onto the plane back home which went straight to voicemail. Bucky didn’t call him yet either, which soured his mood exponentially. What if Steve _wasn’t_ fine? What if it was their last call?

 Exhausted from the plane ride, the failure of the mission and the lingering anger that Bucky hadn’t answered his call, Steve slammed the front door behind him. He winced immediately, feeling childish once the impulse had resided. He called out that he was home, and hung his jacket on the coat hanger.

“Hello?” The only response was the echo of his own voice.

Steve frowned and took his phone out of the pocket. Still, he had no missed calls or texts from Bucky.

He was about to call him again when he heard a very loud thud.

Immediately, there was an alarmed cry, one he knew that belonged to his daughter, and he sprinted towards the kitchen. “Felicity? Baby, what’s wrong—”

Her back went crashing against his knees, her tiny frame shaking with fear.

Steve looked up.

Agent Rumlow was in his kitchen.

Except, it wasn’t agent Rumlow. It was a horror version of him. Half of his body was marred from what resembled claw marks and he wore a mask with crossbones. He had his gun pointed at them.

“You’re too late,” Rumlow said. “Again.”

Steve’s eyes drifted to where Rumlow’s gun was now pointed.

Immediately, he threw Felicity behind him, protecting her from the garish sight but it was too late. She had seen what he saw now.

No. _No_ not again. Not _again_.

Steve thought he had seen it all. Nothing could ever destroy him like what he has already gone through.

 But he was wrong.

 _This_ could.

 Bucky, sprawled lifelessly across the linoleum kitchen floor in a pool of blood. His eyes were glazed over and his mouth was dropped, his face perpetually frozen in terror. Dead.

“ _Bucky!”_

Steve lurched towards him as bile crept up his throat. He collapsed onto the floor next to him, cradling his slack head to his chest.

 He began to shout at Bucky’s body in futile attempts, yelling at him to wake up, to _please_ wake up. To not leave him here alone. Again. If Steve closed his eyes, he could smell remnants of the pancakes Bucky made just this morning, if he sniffed his hair past the murky smell of blood, he could still smell his shampoo, and it made him want to scream.

Was this destined to be Steve’s life?  Getting tastes of a normal life before having it ripped away? Seeing his partners lifeless in his home kitchen and never making it on time to save them?

 “Why would you do this?” Steve says in a low voice, addressing the man with the ugly scars without moving from Bucky’s side. He brushed the blood soaked limp hair from Bucky’s face as he spoke, trying to clean him. _Bucky,_ he thought, _Wake up, I’m right here._

Rumlow tilted his head to the side, as if perplexed. “Hydra only takes advantage of the opportunities we’re given.”

Steve forces himself to tear his eyes away from Bucky to look at Rumlow.

“What?” Steve says, sharply, only distantly aware that his chest was heaving, and his mind overcoming with the fogginess of distraught.

“It’s your fault,” Rumlow replies, like Steve were stupid.

“You _killed_ him. You killed him just like you killed Peggy,” Steve says flatly, freakishly calm yet inside he was frenzied as wrath bubbled in his veins, “How is _this_ my fault?”

“Oh, but I didn't kill Carter,” Rumlow stated. “You did.”

“What?”

“And you did this too,” Rumlow shrugs, gesturing to Bucky’s body with his bloodied hands. “It’s not like you haven’t seen it coming. It’s not like you haven’t deliberately put him in danger. Am I wrong? I mean,” he says, smirking, “you made Bucky, your boy, your buddy, your _lover_ , an _Avenger_. You put him in that risk. _You_ shoved him in front of the gunfire and now you're surprised? Of course he's dead, just like your wife. You don't get happiness, Rogers. You don't get love. You don't get anything.”

“I didn't kill him,” Steve seethed, “I couldn't, He’s my—”

“He’s your what?” Rumlow taunts, knowing Steve couldn't choke out the words. They never… Steve never even told him yet.

“I didn't kill him,” Steve repeated.

“But look,” Rumlow rasped, nodding to his weapon, “It's your gun.”

Steve looked—It was his gun.

Steve screamed in the way that would wreck your throat for a week, tuning out Rumlow’s malicious laughter as his head pounded.

_I killed him. I killed him. I killed him._

Steve lunges for Rumlow, and they fought over control of the gun around the corpse. They slip in blood until Steve managed to weld himself between Rumlow and his kitchen counter, and grapple for the gun, although Rumlow wasn’t fighting back too hard. Steve gets a hold of it as Rumlow stands with his hands in surrender. He squeezes the pistol until his knuckles go white. Rumlow stands there, without reaction, without so much as a look of worry, and it has Steve’s eyes flashing with rage.

“Go ahead, Captain. Shoot me like you did Bucky.”

Was that meant to stop him?

His finger quivers at the trigger when the soft hiccups get louder and a flood of rational thinking nearly knocks him over. He can’t do this. Felicity is still in the room.

 

Wait.

 

_Felicity is still in the bedroom._

_He’s in his bedroom._

He whips his head to his alarm clock that inconspicuously blinks 3:27 AM.

 

It was a dream.

///

 

The gun clatters to the ground as Steve emits a horrified noise. He stares at the fuzzy silver weapon numbly. He must have grabbed it in his sleep. He had one kept in his drawer, as did all agents in the case of—Well. In the case of something happening of the likes that did Peggy.

He almost shot his own daughter.

 He almost hurt his baby girl.

 The hiccups turn into a startled wail at the loud noise and she calls for him, crying. He walks towards Felicity on unsteady legs before crashing down before her. His knees knock hard against the wooden floor as he embraces her tightly. Trying to shush her, he strokes her hair with trembling fingers.

He stares ahead at the dark black hallway for several excruciating minutes until Felicity’s crying subsides. He scoops her up, kicking the firearm hard under the bed—refusing the urge to check if the safety was off or on— and brings her under the covers with him, pulling her close enough to hear the rhythm of her heartbeat against his chest. Even then, he doesn’t sleep. Won’t sleep. He stays there, staring at the blackness that engulfs him dead in the eye.

 Steve wonders if this is what dying feels like.

 

///

 

For the first time ever, Steve doesn’t go in the next day. He doesn’t go anywhere. He lies in bed with his daughter curled up in his arms, continuously searching for bruises, bleeding, _damage_ even though he knows he didn’t hurt her.

Eventually, Steve unplugs his phone from its charging port and hovers his thumb over Sam’s contact number. It would send them off edge for him to simply never show up. He owes them an explanation, at the very least.

He dials and Sam answers groggily. “Steve? I just woke up.”

Steve opens his mouth to reply when a cascade of memories come rushing back from last night’s nightmare. His hand grips his phone as he panics, turning to his daughter, but she’s still fast asleep beside him. How does one explain to a friend they’re too afraid of letting go of their child to come to work that morning?

“Steve?” Sam suddenly sounds much more awake.

Steve forces his voice to work but it comes out weak and rough. “ _Sam._ ”

Sam whistles at the voice break. “Uh oh, you don’t sound good.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, “I’m sick.” and he isn’t lying. Steve’s sick to his stomach.

“Okay, you just stay home, alright?” Sam says soothingly, before pausing. “Tomorrow too. Just take care of yourself, I can see you’ve been stressing yourself sick this week. I’ll come visit you tonight, okay? I’ll even sleep over, I don’t want you alone tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. _Friday_. The anniversary of Peggy’s death. Steve almost forgot, but then, he mused darkly, he didn’t forget, not really, for that dream to have manifested.

“No,” Steve says quickly, “You’ll see me tomorrow. Just one day off.”

“Steve,” Says Sam.

“ _Please_.”

“Can’t talk you into anything,” Sam grumbles, and Steve can picture him rolling his eyes. “Listen, I gotta get ready for work, you want me to swing by and drop your girl off at daycare?”

 “ _No_ ,” Steve protests, “I want her here, please, just go to work, we’ll be fine.” Steve has to fake his rasp now, “Please Sam, just go to work.”

“Okay, man,” Sam says, skeptically, and Steve knows he convinced him just by the scrape of his teeth, “Get well soon.” 

Steve hangs up. _Get well soon._ Steve feels so broken the thought makes him laugh. _Getting Well._ He’s not sure it’s possible.

It’s about half past eight when Felicity wakes up, and the first thing she mumbles is, “Comfy.” Steve let go of his baited breath.

 He has her dressed and tells her she gets to stay at home with him today, and then, _is that okay_? because maybe she’s secretly terrified of him and would honestly rather be at daycare. She likes the idea of staying home with him. She’s not scared of him. She still loves him. Steve tries not to cry with relief.

The morning goes smoothly, although both father and daughter are noticeably quieter than usual. Steve gets lost in his thoughts often. He can’t get the image of Bucky lifeless on his floor out of his head, everywhere he turns, he startles, afraid his dream is coming to life. And it’s not just Bucky—It’s Peggy too. Then Natasha, Sam, Wanda. He needs to get out of the apartment, away from the environment his mind is trying to deceive him into fearing. He can’t become afraid of his own home, he won’t let it, so he packs a bag, puts on a baseball cap, slathers some suntan lotion onto Felicity’s arms, legs, back and face and walks her to the closest park. As he pushes Felicity on the swings he can’t help thinking that the park won’t ever be enough, for him maybe, if he tries to forget hard enough, but not for her. She deserves so much more than what he’s given her. She deserves the world. Natasha’s words are starting to make more sense—

She’s right. It shouldn’t matter how deep and gone he is. He needs to suck it up for her because she never asked for this. It used to make him frustrated, that Natasha felt she had the right to override him, to sneak behind his back to gift Felicity with toys and insight, or throw impromptu parties, but maybe he’s been looking at it the wrong way. She’s been doing the things he hasn’t been. In many ways, Natasha has done a better job at being a parent than Steve, and she didn’t even put her to bed or fed her or got her potty-trained. Natasha never risked her safety, never failed her the way he did last night. What right did Steve have, then, to have those thoughts?

Steve felt so riddled with guilt, he felt insane with it. He needed to talk to Felicity about what happened, he needed to be reassured that she wasn’t petrified out of her mind, but he didn’t know where or how to start that conversation, if that even made any sense to attempt with a four-year-old, and he was too terrified of what she might tell him for him to bring it up.   

It turns out, Steve didn’t have to bring it up. Felicity does on her own. That afternoon, after their trip back from the park, Steve made her lunch then set her down at her new craft table, wedging himself into it as well to colour with her.

Steve is helping her draw a forest with the Crayola markers when she abruptly puts her Grass Green down, causing it to roll off the table. Steve is already bent down with one arm to reach it when Felicity asks, “Why were you screaming last night?”

Steve freezes, nearly dropping the marker again. He takes a second, clenches his eyes closed and takes a deep breath before re-emerging with the lost green and setting his back straight against the chair.

“I had a bad dream,” He starts off slowly. “Like how sometimes you have bad dreams?”

She nods. “Monsters?” She asks, her high pitch going even higher with the innocent question.

“No—Well. Kind of,” he corrects himself. “Someone hurt someone I really—” He cuts himself off, eyes widening. He was about to say it so naturally, it shocked him. It shouldn’t be that easy, it couldn’t be.

Felicity is giving him an encouraging nod, mimicking the ones he would give her when she was nervous to say something.

“Someone I care about.”

She frowns a little, tongue peeking out the corner of her mouth as she concentrates on keeping the marker on the bright yellow construction paper.

“Mommy,” She assumes, never taking her eyes off the paper.

Steve hesitates, which causes her to look up.

“Not Mommy?” She asks with a little confused frown when Steve says no, “Auntie Tasha and uncle Sam?”

“No.”

“Bucky?”

Steve’s evergreen meets the sunrise in a jagged line and passes onto the table.  He licks his right thumb and smears the colour until the plastic shows a faint smudge.

“It doesn’t matter who it was. It was frightening, is all.”

“Monsters aren’t real, Daddy. It was just a dream.”

“That’s right. Sometimes dreams seem very real, and that’s why Daddy got upset and yelled, but it’s not your fault and I’m sorry I scared you.”

“I was scared,” Felicity confirms, timidly.

Steve grabs her hand and laces their fingers together, giving hers a small squeeze.

“I promise you something like that will _never_ happen again. And if you do ever hear screaming you need to stay in your room until someone you know comes and gets you. No matter what. Promise me, okay?”

She lets go of Steve’s hand and hops off the chair. She runs to him and he lifts her up. She buries her head into the crook of her neck and whispers, “I promise.”

He brushes her hair behind her ear and kisses her cheek. “I love you so much, sweetheart.”

They stay there for a while, Felicity latched onto her father contentedly as he listens to her even breathing.

Despite the peace made with his daughter, the dream haunts Steve for the rest of the day, he knows it wasn’t real, of course it wasn’t, just a manifestation of his subconscious, but it still struck too close to home. Steve felt sombre with the undeniable certainty of what he must do.

Maybe things won’t happen in the exact turn of events as the dream, but Dream Rumlow was right. Bucky will only get hurt if he joins The Avengers, and it would be Steve’s fault. 

///

 

When Steve gets to work on Friday morning, he feels like he’s being watched. They have their Avengers briefing as usual, and he knows whenever his team aren’t paying attention to Fury or Hill, they’re eyeing him, for two reasons. The first, is that it was June 20th, and everyone knew what that meant. The second, is that Steve has never taken a sick day in his life. Not one by his own will, not unless he was seriously injured and was forced to.

But Steve did yesterday, and his team wanted to know why because despite Sam’s insistence of Steve’s throat being sore, he sounded fine.

When Hill dismissed the meeting, Steve sat still in his seat, eyes on the mahogany table as everyone filed out. Only Wanda hesitated, placing her delicate hand on Steve’s shoulder.

“Sometimes I look at you and have to remind myself that you are not my father,” She whispered, in her raspy, accented voice and Steve’s eyes shot up to hers, surprised.

“I think of you so fondly, you _are_ a father to me. The Avengers, we are your family.” Steve raised his hand to cover hers on his shoulder, dropping his eyes back to the wooden tabletop. “Agent Carter-Rogers brought my brother and I to you, and for that I will be grateful always… Pietro is gone now, and so is she. There is pain in my chest that will never leave, but I know I am not alone. Neither are you.” She bends down to kiss his cheek, then walks away.

Fury and Hill watch the exchange with careful glances to one another.

“I am truly sorry this meeting had to be today, Captain,” says Fury, “But it was out of my control. This meeting was scheduled by Alexander Pierce.”

Steve frowned, “Who is that? I’ve never heard of him.”    

“Ah,” says a new voice, “And I’ve heard so much about you, Agent Steven Rogers.”

Steve cranes his head towards the door behind him. An older man with blondish hair beginning to grey and hard creases in his face in an expensive suit walks in. Steve stands immediately to shake his hand.

“Rogers, meet Mr. Pierce,” Fury’s mouth hardens, for a fraction of a second, “My boss.”

Steve smooths the frown from his face even if he’s frowning even harder on the inside. “I was under the impression Fury was the Director of SHIELD.”

“He is,” Hill, interjects. “Pierce is the secretary of the World Security Council, which SHIELD is obliged to be adhered to the policies of.”

“Oh,” Steve says, and the knot in his stomach grows exponentially.  That didn’t sound right. Something was telling him SHIELD was created to be a private organization. He’d have to ask Tony about it later.  

Fury asks if they could get the meeting started as other upper executive SHIELD heads that Steve was familiar with take their seats.

The agenda starts with Bucky’s situation right away.

Fury and Hill list the qualifiable attributes Bucky would possess as an addition to the team, and listen to the other SHIELD heads debate whether the pros outweighed the cons before handing the final decision over to Steve.

For the second time that morning, everyone at the table was looking at him. He took a deep breath and made eye contact with all of them, lingering on Peirce.

He reminds himself this is what he must do. To keep him safe. If Peggy was here— If she was here this would've been her job, but that aside—she’d say he was being dramatic. But Peggy isn’t here and Steve hardly finds it in him to care how dramatic this is. He’s keeping him _safe_. The papers are in front of him and he pushes them away with a forceful shove.

“I can’t sign this.”

He insists that Bucky was ill prepared for the stress The Avengers work entailed and thus had to, with sincerest apologies, rejects the proposition.

“Can you give us an example?” Mr. Pierce asks from across the room.

“The Avengers is Agent Rogers’ team, he does not need to validate his decisions,” Fury says in a clipped tone, defending his choice, even though Steve is pretty sure Fury’s pissed at him.

“If a commanding officer has no words to fall back on his reasoning, then what kind of authority does he execute?”

Fury purses his lips, and Steve’s palms begin to clam up at the thought of having to make Bucky sound _bad_ in front of all his bosses.

“Well?”

The words are out of his mouth before he could stop them.

“On April 7th of this year, I was undergoing a clearance level 3 operation with Agent Barnes. Following the success of the mission and our arrival back at the compound, he began showing erratic behaviour and symptoms of PTSD at the sight of another agent, and almost killed him. The Avengers’ difficulty is the utmost and our clearance levels are eight and above. If Barnes could not handle a simple mission without breaking down, how can he be expected to not be compromised when undergoing an attack on Hydra? Barnes may have a biotechnologically enhanced arm, but that is all he has as an advantage, and I will not let that put my teammates at risk.”

The room is quiet.

Steve stares down at his lap and wants to throw up.

Fury clears his throat, “Rogers, I have heard rumours of you breaking down after a Hydra mission yourself in March.”

“With all due respect, Sir, this meeting is not about me.”

Pierce sits back in his seat, seemingly satisfied. “You’re right, it’s not. Pardon me for asking but do you know who this agent was that set Barnes off?”

Steve must tread carefully. Tipping off that they thought Rumlow is suspicious could either help his case or seriously hurt it. He wasn’t supposed to be investigating him, it was against protocol.  Steve wasn’t sure why Secretary Pierce cared about who it was, in fact, Steve didn’t even understand why Secretary Pierce was _here_. The Avengers ran independently, Steve’s the commanding officer, has been for years now, and this is the first time he’s seen him.  Since when did they need the advising of The World Security Council? Bucky wasn’t anything special. Not before he was captured, at least. He was just a normal agent.

Either way, something about the way Pierce’s eyes were intently focused and the way he sat in his seat made Steve uncomfortable, and it’s not because he just threw Bucky under the bus for him.

“I’m sorry, I don’t remember.”

Peirce narrows his eyes at Steve, who returns his gaze with a feigned blank expression until he breaks eye contact.

“That’s too bad.”

“Well,” Fury says suddenly, “We’ll have you sign the rejection and we can adjourn this meeting closed.”

Steve nods stiffly, clicking his pen and avoids Pierce’s eyes as he walks out with the rest of the SHIELD agents once it’s done.

“You need to tell Barnes, it’s protocol.” Fury says, once he’s collected the papers.

“I will,” Steve replies, though his voice falters and he blanches at having that conversation. JARVIS intercepts then, in its clear manner, “Agent Barnes is taking an elevator to the 50th floor now, sir. Shall I request for his attendance in a quiet room?”

Now? Steve’s pulse pounds loudly in his ears as he flushes under the scrutiny of Fury and Hill. If he tells JARVIS no, Fury would become suspicious, and Steve’s pushing his luck with Fury right now. But if he agrees, _then he has to_ _actually tell Bucky what he did_. And he'd want to know _why_ he did it.

Ultimately, if he gets it over with today, he can have Natasha pick Felicity up and go to bed and never wake up until Monday. Or at least until it’s no longer fucking June 20th.

Reluctantly, Steve allows JARVIS to contact Bucky, and he takes a shaky breath through his nose.

“Rogers?” Fury.

“Yes?”

“I won’t pretend to understand that stunt you pulled in there. You know better than anyone in this facility that Barnes is more than competent at his job. He is skilled, experienced, far more than you, and understands sacrifice. You could have gotten him fired from his job at SHIELD as well as blacklisted from every intelligence agency in the rest of the world. Fired agents do not receive pension, housing, paid health insurance or _income_. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Director.”

Fury narrowed his eyes, “Do you, really?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Steve snapped.

“You are excused to go,” Maria says, her words are softer than Fury’s, but still has an edge to them. Disappointment, Steve thinks.

“Fine.”

///

 

Before Steve gets to Bucky, he’s intercepted by Sam, who crosses his arms and says, “That’s some fast acting cold.”

Steve puts his hands in his pockets and squints at the sunlight shining in from out the window. “Modern medicine, miracle worker, really.”

“Uh huh,” Sam nods, not buying it.

Steve glances at him, frantic and uneasy. Something about it placates Sam and he uncrosses his arms. “Look,” Sam says, “However way you wanna spin it, you got sick, you sprained your ankle, your apartment had a gas leak, I don’t care. I’m glad you gave yourself a day off. Me and the team were kinda hoping you would today, but I didn’t know about that meeting,” he says, pointing his thumb at the conference room. “It’s progress Steve. You’re doing good.”

“Thanks,” Steve said, but his mouth feeling dry when Sam leans in to give him a hug.

“You visited her?” Sam asks gently.

 “Yeah,” Steve said.  

“That’s good.”

“Agent Rogers, Bucky Barnes is now on the conference floor. I have blocked his elevator access until you arrive.” JARVIS announced then. Steve can already hear Bucky complaining at JARVIS down the hall.

Steve tells Sam he has to go and turns the corner. He swallows, wishing for water. 

When Steve meets Bucky, who seemed confused and slightly annoyed at being blocked by JARVIS from going back to his room, Bucky brightens up. “Oh, hi Steve! You brought back my shirt?” asked Bucky. “I didn’t see you yesterday.”

Steve forgot all about the damn shirt. It’s still sitting in the dryer.

“Uh—No,” Steve says, “I’m here actually because I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Sure.”

Steve points to an office chair in the empty conference room they walked into and tells Bucky to sit down. The whole situation was awkward and Steve wanted to get it over with so he could forget it ever happened. Bucky complies, sinking into the chair with a raised eyebrow. He taps his metal fingers onto the polished wood of the table, waiting for Steve to spit out what’s on his mind so he could stop watching him wring his hands.

“I’m the commanding officer for The Avengers,” Steve starts. “It used to be Peggy’s job. Now it’s mine.”

Steve watches anxiously as Bucky narrows his eyes. “…Okay.”

Bucky knew this.

“I have responsibilities and decisions to make on behalf of the team.”

Bucky stares at him, and Steve realized he’d have to get to the point much faster. He wonders briefly if it was worth it, if he shouldn’t just excuse himself to find Fury and tell him he changed his mind. If he turned around right now, JARVIS could eradicate the signed rejection papers. Bucky could be an Avenger. Then he wouldn’t have to _explain_ anything. Bucky would make an excellent Avenger, he would get along fine with the rest, and get to kick his shin under the table during debriefs the way Nat does with Clint. They’d get to spend more time together. He’d get to see him everyday.

It could be great.

Steve looks at Bucky, who’s waiting expectantly for him to continue.

 But then Bucky’s no longer in front of him.

His vision clouds with the image of Bucky crumpled on the floor of his kitchen with glossed, empty eyes. Steve’s stomach swoops with nausea.

It would be terrible.

Steve had a plan. He made it up during the two-minute elevator ride. He was going to come clean and explain how he couldn’t possibly add anyone to The Avengers after the losses they’ve suffered. He was going to tell Bucky not to take it personally, that he would have declined anyone—Which was true. There will be no more new members. Just, _especially_ not Bucky— They could still do missions together, they could still defeat Hydra (maybe). He just couldn’t be an Avenger. He couldn’t have the title. It would be something they’d both have to live with.

It was an honest, good plan.

But Steve never follows his own rules anymore, he forgot how to follow through proper plans. Nothing ever pans out the way it’s meant to anymore.

“There was a vote,” Steve lies.

 “What?”

///

 

He told Bucky that they voted against him. That because he was in charge he had to go with the majority, even if he had the ability to change it, to keep the peace. Bucky was quiet for an awful while, and Steve assumed it was because he was angry, but he just shrugged his shoulders and knocked his flesh shoulder with Steve’s to get him to stop looking like somebody rained on his parade.

“You’re not mad at me?” Steve asked.

“You?” Bucky scoffed, “Never.”

“Are you sure?”

“You tried, Steve.”

Steve needed to get out of the room. The air was tight just like his chest. What he was doing was so wrong. And Bucky was looking up at him like he was some saint, _Christ_. If only he knew how twisted things got in his head. He’s not good anymore.

He was that guy. The one people would actually come up to clap on the back and say, “You’re a good man, Rogers. You’re as good as they come.”

But _Christ_ , he _wasn’t_ good.

Something was corrupting him on the inside, eating the common sense out of him, and it was taking over him.

Steve didn’t have to _be_ _good_. He made do without that part of himself a couple years ago.

But everyone else was relying on him to be. They think he is. They put their faith in him to be the one that always will be. He has to pretend he’s this whole put together person, The Old Steve Rogers, when really, he’s less than half the man he used to be.

He didn’t know _what_ he was, anymore, other than, indisputably, a walking wild mess.

He got up from the chair and leaned against the door, folding his arms over his chest. He should leave while he’s ahead—and six paces behind the pit of self-contempt waiting to swallow him up— but Steve seems to have a knack for torturing himself, and he had to know.

“Are you disappointed?” Steve asks, and Bucky looks up from the signed papers Steve gave him.

“What do you mean?”

“Did you want to be one?” Steve felt his throat constrict, “An Avenger?”

“Oh,” Bucky sounded surprised, as though he never even thought about it.

“Nah,” Bucky said, shaking his head, but his smile didn’t reach his eyes.

It’s silent and Steve can’t seem to make his feet leave, it’s Bucky’s damn face, he supposes, getting him stuck in his spot, which is what prompts Bucky to tilt his head to the left, his hair curtaining over his face, in a way that requires him to sweep it away from his eyes. He gets up from his chair and gets close, and with every step Steve wants to spin around and run away. Bucky puts his hand on Steve’s arm and looks at him intently.

“Hey,” Bucky says very softly, “You okay?”

Steve’s heart gets lodged in his throat. _No_ , he wants to say _, my wife died four years ago, I have a crush on you and I’m crumbling to pieces._

“Of course. Why do you ask?” It’s like Steve tells one lie and suddenly he forgets how to tell the truth.

Bucky’s mouth does a funny thing, twitching downwards, and his brows string together with such concern.

“I thought—“ Bucky looks into Steve’s eyes, but Steve hardened them, they aren’t inviting at all. “—Never mind.” Bucky drops his hand and takes a step back.

“I’m going back upstairs. I hope…” Whatever Bucky was about to say he seemed to have changed his mind. Bucky walks out and turn his head over his shoulder to look at Steve once more. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

 

///

 

It was bright and sunny outside and it felt weird— Weird to be at a cemetery when everything around him was so pleasant. Birds and flowers, and sunshine, juxtaposed with row upon row of markers of the buried dead. Felicity was wearing sunglasses and a ponytail and she looked so cool in her little outfit, perfectly in her element. She was a summer baby, after all. And yet, it’s always been June 20th, always been warm, and never has it unsettled Steve quite like this.  

Steve takes her hand and tells her to be quiet when they pass a family clad in black, reading scripture next to a freshly dug grave. When they’re a reasonable distance away, Felicity turns to her father in question, “Why were they crying?”

Steve never knew why people were so afraid to approach the topic of death with their children. Maybe it’s because of his profession, or that he has one spectacular kid, but he knew for well over a year now that she understands the concept. Steve never sugar coated it but he never told Felicity her mother was murdered either. She wasn’t sure how she interpreted it, but he knew for sure that she was aware that she had a mother who loved both of them who was now gone and wasn’t coming back. In spite of all this, Steve hesitated still before he asked Felicity this afternoon, _“Would you like to go visit Mommy with me?”_ She blinked at him, eyes wide and curious. _“Okay,”_ she said carefully, her face blooming into an excited smile.  Steve stopped at the same elderly merchant woman with the flower cart and Felicity had a new flower in her hair, before they got into the car to get here.

“They’re sad. They lost a love one,” Steve replied.

Felicity frowned. “Why don’t they go find them?”

“They can’t, sweetheart, they’re lost like Mommy.”

“Oh.”

It’s another seven minutes of walking before they reach the plot owned by SHIELD. Steve passes by Coulson’s grave, as well as Pietro’s. Peggy’s tombstone was large and expensive. It had her whole name, Margaret “Peggy” Carter-Rogers”, engraved above “ _dutiful worker, wonderful woman, wife, mother and friend_.”

Steve already feels tears welling but he tries to keep them at bay for his daughter. “Here she is,” Steve whispers, handing her the bouquet. “Go say hi and give her the flowers.” He pats her back encouragingly as he simply sits in the grass in front of the stone. He’s not usually one to talk to tombstones, but he can’t stop himself from saying “Hi Pegs,” after Felicity speaks. There’s so much he’d like to be able to say, but can’t seem to formulate it. Doesn’t know if he’d want to even, with his daughter within earshot. Steve reaches out and gestures for her to sit with him. She returned to him obediently, and he placed her on his lap and told her every story about Peggy he could think of. She listened to every word with rapt attention as he kept going, huddled together amongst the flowers and grass, with the sun beating down on their backs. It’s an hour later when he brushes off the dirt from his pants to leave when he notices that there’s something underneath the spray of flowers they brought. He pushes it to the side and is surprised to find two fresh roses, red and white, already lying there. He picks up the white one to find a note attached to its stem. Steve unravels the note and stares at it, speechless. 

 _Nothing can make injustice just but mercy. I’m forever in debt to you_ _– J “Bucky” Barnes._

He drops the rose back at the foot of the grave numbly, and goes home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all have a happy new year!!


End file.
